


For The Best

by a_y_lin



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, African culture because Bonnie Bennett should be allowed to wear her hair in protective styles, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Author pretends the homophobia in this time period was less severe than it was, BAMF Kol Mikaelson, Battle, Braids, Canon-Typical Violence, Cultural Differences, Drinking to Cope, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Historical Inaccuracy, I think I covered all my bases; it's an AU, Internalized Homophobia, It's not a crackfic I'm just impulsive, Kol needs friends, Learning Magic, M/M, Magic, No vampires, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Politics, Portrayals of religions do not depict author's views, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Religious Conflict, Set in 10th-century Northumbria, Sharing a Bed, What Have I Done, Witch Jeremy Gilbert, Witch Kol Mikaelson, Witchcraft, they're both witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28070748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_y_lin/pseuds/a_y_lin
Summary: "I hate to have to tell you, but you're going to have to find new translators who speak Icelandic," the Dane informed him with a grimace."I don't understand," Jeremy confessed. "The treaty said I was to marry your sister.""My people don't have family names like you Saxons do; we're known by our ancestry. Rebekah isn't known as Mikaelson, she is called Mikaelsdottir. Do you see this phrase here?" Kol gestured to a line of the peace treaty that looked like nonsense to him. "It doesn't say you're to marry the youngest Mikaelson. You're to marry the youngest of Mikael's sons--me."An arranged marriage historical AU meets Jeremy Gilbert being a witch!Also check outHow to Die, another Kol/Jeremy fanfic I've written!
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett & Kol Mikaelson, Caroline Forbes & Kol Mikaelson, Elena Gilbert & Jeremy Gilbert, Elena Gilbert & Kol Mikaelson, Elena Gilbert/Damon Salvatore, Jeremy Gilbert/Kol Mikaelson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 41





	1. An Understandable Mistake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [montrel13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/montrel13/gifts).



> TW for internalized homophobia and period-typical homophobia. Will not include one of these at every chapter, as it will be an underlying theme throughout, but don't read if this bothers you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to montrel13 for this story idea! They suggested that I write a story where Jeremy is a witch, and I love historical AU's, so I came up with this.
> 
> Just a disclaimer: some of the history throughout this story will be accurate; other things will be inaccurate. I'll try to make a note of these, but I probably won't get everything.

Jeremy picked at the cuff of his shirt, tapping his foot impatiently in his father's main hall. Spring warmth seeped in throughout the estate, but he was shaking, restless; he wasn't cold. His older sister, Elena, stood next to him, regal as always. She shot him a disapproving glare when she noticed him fidgeting.

They were waiting for Rebekah Mikaelson, his betrothed. He had heard about her, though only rumors, which he supposed was to be expected regarding the only daughter of the Danish warlord, Mikael the Destroyer. The Saxons called their family The Original Family--the first Danes to rule over a united kingdom under Danelaw. It would have been impressive if Mikael hadn't slaughtered thousands in the formation of his kingdom mere years before Jeremy himself was born. He recalled the representative Mikael had sent to his father, King of Northumbria, the week prior. He had been taught Danes didn't negotiate, that they only conquered, but it seemed this one did, despite his title of Destroyer.

Jeremy's father, King Grayson, had been anxious for months about the nearby Danish forts. Most of Northumbria had been under Danelaw for generations, save for the lands his father managed to preserve, but Mikael's army was far stronger than their own. When the Danes offered a peace treaty in exchange for gold and silver, they were quick to accept, with the additional clause that there would be a marriage between their two families, ensuring Mikael kept his word. He exhaled sharply; his father hadn't asked if he wished to be married, though he wouldn't deny the request if it would save his people. Still, he had hoped Elena would step in, would offer her hand to one of Mikael's sons instead, but she was already promised to the eldest son of Lord Salvatore, Damon.

With a start, he heard the soft clinking of armor; the guards at the door were moving. Creaking, the tall wooden doors swung open, revealing a young Dane; his hair brushed the top of his shoulders, one side braided neatly and curling around his ear to display the silver rings he wore there, and he had a sword at his hip that Jeremy doubted was decorative. Amber eyes settled on him for a moment before turning to the king.

"Kol í Krókr Refr, þér til þjónustu. Faðir minn, Mikael, sendi mig," the Dane declared, kneeling in front of King Grayson.

The court translator, a minor noble called Lord Oswald, flinched at the words, translating tersely, "He is Kol, the wily fox. His father, Mikael, sent him."

Jeremy froze, staring at this young son of Mikael. Though he hadn't recognized him at first, he knew the Dane by reputation. They said he was a brilliant tactician, unpredictable on the battlefield; Jeremy simply couldn't believe he was so young, having expected a weathered general to bear such a title.

"Ask him why he is here, instead of his sister," King Grayson demanded, unconcerned by the Dane's title. Jeremy didn't know if it was ignorant or brave; this strategist had likely been responsible for the deaths of hundreds.

"Afhverju ertu hérna? Við áttum von á yngri systur þinni, Rebekah," the elderly translator recited tentatively.

Kol rose, moving with a grace Jeremy hadn't expected, and settled his gaze on the young Saxon. "Faðir minn sendi mig til að styrkja bandalag okkar. Ég giftist Jeremy sem hluta af friðarsamningi okkar."

He recognized his name, but nothing else. Confused, he looked to Lord Oswald, who wore a similar expression of shock.

"He says his father sent him to strengthen the alliance between our kingdoms. He is to marry Jeremy as part of our peace agreement."

"What is the meaning of this?" the king hissed, rage breaking through his bewilderment; Elena flinched at the volume. "Mikael promised us the hand of his youngest in marriage, his daughter, Rebekah."

"My liege," the translator objected quietly. "Perhaps it is best not to upset one of the warlord's children."

Jeremy's father looked slightly calmed, if only by the fear that shouting at Kol would bring Mikael's retribution, but he pressed the elderly man regardless, "Tell him what I asked."

Lord Oswald opened his mouth, about to begin despite his qualms, when Kol himself interrupted.

"That's quite enough," he snapped, English near perfect if not for a slight accent. "Bring me the document, and I will sort this myself."

Torn between King Grayson and Kol, the translator seemed to conclude that disobeying the Dane would bring harsher consequences, and he slipped out of the room briefly before returning with the parchment their peace treaty was inked on, along with its English translation. Kol beckoned for both documents, skimming over the English version and huffing in annoyance partway through.

"I hate to have to tell you, but you're going to have to find new translators who speak Icelandic," the Dane informed them with a grimace, looking quite apologetic to his credit. King Grayson looked livid, and Jeremy took the opportunity to speak.

"I don't understand," the younger boy confessed. "The treaty said I was to marry your sister."

Kol sighed, running a hand through his hair before he explained, "My people don't have family names like you Saxons do; we're known by our ancestry. Rebekah isn't known as Mikaelson, she is called Mikaelsdottir. Do you see this phrase here?" He gestured to a line of the peace treaty that looked like nonsense to the noble. "It doesn't say you're to marry the youngest Mikaelson. You're to marry the youngest of Mikael's sons--me."

The room fell silent, and Jeremy could practically see his father think. They had signed the treaty, which meant they were all bound by it. To repudiate one of the terms, although it was one they themselves had demanded, would insult Mikael, and if they angered Mikael-- He didn't want to consider it. It seemed his father didn't either.

"In that case, Kol, I welcome you to Bamburgh, capital of Northumbria," King Grayson declared reluctantly, obviously not enthralled at the concept. "We have arranged a dinner in your honor, and in honor of your father. Please, follow me."

In one sweeping movement, Jeremy's father took his leave, long robes swishing behind him as he strode down to the banquet hall. Elena quietly followed suit, as did Jeremy, after glancing back to make sure Kol was behind him. The walk was silent, but the Saxon prince found it far too short. Before he could even process his betrothal, he was being led to the long table at the front of the room reserved for the royal family and their guests. Numbly, he took a seat, distantly registering that Kol was next to him. He was only brought back to attention when his father started his speech.

"I am pleased to announce that, due to the marriage between my son and the scion of Mikael, there will be peace between our two peoples," Grayson declared, voice ringing out clearly throughout the room.

There was a smattering of polite applause as the king sat down, and servants flooded into the room, bringing platters of food. Jeremy was grateful for the distraction, serving himself some vegetables and roast fowl. He glanced over at the Dane, who was far from what he had expected, and he noticed with a start that the other boy was actually using the cutlery.

Kol sighed, setting down his fork gently. "I'm not a barbarian. What were you expecting, exactly?" he snapped, glancing over at Jeremy, who floundered for a few moments. "I'm not an idiot. You've been watching me eat for the past few minutes like someone taught a dog to use a fork."

"You're not what I expected," the Saxon mumbled, blushing in embarrassment. Had he really been so obvious, or was his betrothed highly perceptive? It still felt strange to think of the Dane in such a manner, but they would be married the next afternoon, so he supposed he ought to grow accustomed to it.

Some of the defensiveness in the Dane's eyes faded, and his eyes softened, the amber tone growing warmer almost imperceptibly. "I can't imagine you want to be here any more than I do, but we're to be married soon. We might as well make the best of it," he advised, taking a sip of wine.

"You want me to make the best of it?" Jeremy asked, incredulous. "Tomorrow afternoon, I'll be forced to marry a man who I was practically sold to in exchange for peace," he spat, tone laced with disgust. "This is all because your father wanted to conquer my kingdom, so spare me your sympathy."

Kol stiffened, curling his fingers around a knife, and for a moment, the Saxon thought the other boy would stab him with it, but he merely dug the utensil into the wood of the table and took a long sip of his drink. "Tell me, are you angry because I'm a Dane, or because I'm a man?" he finally ground out.

Jeremy felt the air leave his lungs; he had hoped the topic wouldn't come up. Although the Church condemned such relations, it would see them married for peace, as would his father, despite the unnatural nature. The Danes had fewer reservations, and he knew the pagans allowed all sorts of immoral acts. He had assumed that they would be married on paper only, and the possibility that it would be more was something he knew he shouldn't dare consider. Nevertheless, he wondered how the Dane's sharp tongue would-- He cut his thoughts short there, becoming aware that Kol was still watching him, waiting for an answer.

The Saxon turned to the king instead. "Father, may I be excused?" he murmured, to which his father nodded curtly, dismissing him.

He saw that Elena's chair was empty; she had likely departed while he was distracted. As Jeremy left, he noticed Kol make a similar request of the king, who he assumed would be glad to get the Dane out of his sight, but he paid it little mind, making his way to the courtyard instead. It was often abandoned, most nobles preferring to spend their time at their own estates, and neither his parents nor Elena spent much time outdoors. Glancing around to ensure he was alone, he settled down in the grass under the shade of an oak tree, taking a fallen petal into the palm of his hand. Taking a deep breath, he focused on how much he wanted it to float, and when he couldn't feel it in his hand anymore, he looked up, grinning when he saw it floating a few inches above his palm.

Consciously, he knew practicing magic in an abandoned courtyard was an abysmal idea. His people condemned it--saying it was evil, pagan, or the work of the Devil--but he couldn't help but feel lighter when he used it, even if it was only to float a flower petal. He had been working on it for years now, but he could still barely levitate light objects.

"What in Odin's name are you doing?" Kol's voice rang through the courtyard, and Jeremy looked up to find his betrothed only a few feet away, likely having followed him from the banquet hall. He mentally berated himself; his people would behead him if they found out, and his betrothed owed him nothing. What was to stop the Dane from having him killed? The Mikaelson crossed the space between them, snatching the petal out of the air. "You of all people should know better," he hissed, looking more concerned than anything. "Your people behead witches; you can't be practicing out in the open like this."

Jeremy blinked, staring at the other boy in confusion. "Why aren't you calling for the guards? I know Danes don't condemn witchcraft, but you should be upset with me for what I said at dinner," he trailed off.

"I am, but that doesn't mean I want you beheaded," Kol huffed, exasperated. "Besides, we're the same, you and I. We're völva, witches." At the Saxon's dubious expression, he raised his right hand, easily levitating the flower petal from before; then, he burned it, letting the ashes fall to the ground.

"How did you do that?" Jeremy breathed, mesmerized. He had never met another witch before, and he had a feeling his betrothed was powerful; now that he knew the Dane had magic, he could practically feel it radiating from him.

Kol smirked, eyes lighting up. "Darling, I have so much to teach you," he chuckled. "For the record, you never answered my question from earlier, but that's alright. I think I already know the answer, and I am sorry this is our circumstance, but I am determined we shall be friends, at the very least."

Jeremy nodded, shoving down his disappointment. He had only spent a few hours with this Dane, with his sharp tongue and piercing amber eyes, and even though he found the other boy attractive, it would do him no good to pursue something so unnatural. It was for the best they merely be friends, so he extended his hand to Kol--this witch who seemed to know so much about magic, about the world--and the Dane took it. Friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, lovely reader! If you're coming here from How to Die, I'm honored you chose to read my second Kol/Jeremy story, which I hope will be quite different from the first. If you didn't, I'm glad to have you, too.
> 
> The date of this story isn't specified, but I imagine it's around the ninth century. At this point, Northumbria was under Danelaw, but for the story's purposes, the castle at Bamburgh is still ruled by Saxons. At the time, same sex marriages, even among Danes, wouldn't have been permitted, but obviously for the sake of the story, I made some adjustments. Norse witches were called völva, but they were seers, unlike Kol and Jeremy, whose witchcraft will be mostly canon from TVD, but I had Kol call them völva, because that was the Norse term for a witch. In TVD, Elena and the others find runic script (Old Norse) in a cave that the Mikaelsons wrote. I wanted to have the words at least be phonetically pronounceable, so I went ahead and used Icelandic for this story, as it's the closest modern language to Old Norse.
> 
> I hope my attempt to integrate their titles from the show (such as Mikael the Destroyer, Kol the Wily Fox, their being called the Original Family) didn't feel too forced, but I did think it was a nice touch. I will mainly have Jeremy narrating, but don't worry, more of Kol's history will be shared in due time. Also, although I have them speaking Icelandic, Kol's title (Krókr Refr) is, in fact, Old Norse. Just a general disclaimer, but I use online resources and translators, so please forgive me if anything not in English is inaccurate.
> 
> I'd love to hear any feedback in comments, and I encourage you to leave kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> Your author,  
> ~Aylin


	2. Thoughts Which Consume

When Jeremy returned to his room, free from Kol at last, he didn't find the relief he had expected. On the contrary, he was restless, anxious to begin learning magic from the other witch. He assumed that they would begin after their wedding, considering it would be difficult to steal any moments away from his family until then, but he still resented the idea. As much as he wanted the Dane to teach him about his power, its limits and capabilities, he didn't want to marry him.

He sat at his dresser, glancing at his reflection in a mirror. Compared to Kol, the Saxon prince thought he looked rather plain. He had no elaborate braids or glinting earrings; he imagined the Dane had a tattoo, which he also lacked. He hadn't spotted any inked designs peeking out from his collar or sleeves, so perhaps he had one on his back; the idea seemed like one that would suit the other witch, and Jeremy smiled despite himself, indulging in his own thoughts for a moment.

Then, he remembered. He shouldn't be pondering another man's tattoos, or how it might feel to run his fingertips over them. It was sinful. As sinful as his practicing magic, his subconscious supplied. Did he dread marrying Kol because his betrothed was a Dane, or because he was a man? The question from dinner taunted him, and to his annoyance, it also reminded him that he still didn't know his soon-to-be husband's age. Was he older than Jeremy himself, or younger?

It didn't matter; he would marry the Dane either way, for the good of his people. Still, he doubted Kol was much older than him; the other witch had a boyish look about him, especially when his eyes lit up in excitement, which he had glimpsed in the courtyard. Jeremy shook the thought away; it would do him no good to admire Kol's appearance either. In fact, it was probably for the best that he kept Kol from his mind until their wedding.

Jeremy was interrupted by a sharp rap on his door, which he answered in confusion. He doubted his father would come to see him as the king would be preparing for the wedding the next day, which left only Elena or Kol, the latter of which was unlikely to seek him out after what he'd said at dinner. As he predicted, he soon found himself facing his sister when he opened the door, skirts swishing as she pushed past him gently before he had a chance to say a word.

"I won't let dad do this to you, Jer," she insisted, determined. "You were supposed to marry Rebekah; she's a Dane, but she's only a noble. Kol, on the other hand, is dangerous. He's a strategist for his father, and if he tries anything, harming him would bring war with Mikael."

"So would refusing to marry him," Jeremy sighed, settling into the chair at his desk. "We haven't known each other for a full day, and I've somehow gotten him to hate me already." At Elena's look of horror, he amended, "It's unlikely he'd actually kill me, but he looked ready to stab me at dinner."

"More importantly, he's a man," Elena pressed, obviously irritated. "You're next in line for the throne of Northumbria, but if you marry him, there won't be any Gilberts after you to inherit. That has to be why the Danes chose Kol instead of his sister. If the two of you are married, Kol's family will legally be entitled to your birthright if you die without an heir."

He stared at her blankly for a few moments, processing. The prince was embarrassed to admit he hadn't realized the situation before. When he married Kol, his family would essentially lose their throne; the Danes would have a claim under Saxon law to take it.

"There's nothing we can do, Elena. I either marry Kol tomorrow, ensuring we lose our throne when I die, or I break off the engagement, ensuring the Danes take our kingdom by force," he snapped. "I hate this. Do you think I want to marry him? For God's sake, at dinner, he kept talking about making the best of our circumstance, as if I hadn't been bartered to him, my chance at ever having a family gone."

His sister bit her lip, eyes downcast at his outburst. Hesitantly, she cautioned, "You ought to be wary around Kol."

"Why?" Jeremy huffed in annoyance.

"Caroline told me about the Mikaelsons; she's a good listener, and servants from other estates are prone to gossip," Elena explained. "They say the eldest, Finn, is loyal to their father to a fault, though he isn't prone to violence. Next is Elijah, who they call noble; he is protective of their siblings, but he always honors his word. He leads an army to the south, near the borders of Mercia, alongside Klaus, who is known as the Hybrid; according to the stories, he bears the strength of a wolf yet wears the skin of a man."

"You're warning me from my betrothed because his elder brothers are dangerous?"

"I'm warning you because they say he's the wildest of them all," his sister breathed. "A few years ago, Kol was assigned to lead Mikael's army in Northumbria. At his first battle, it grew obvious his father had cast him out; he was still a child, yet his father sent him to die. I can only imagine what he must've done to repulse the Destroyer. Six thousand of our men were killed in that slaughter, and the ones who survived claimed he had been struck with an arrow at its start."

Her brother furrowed his brow. "You mean he didn't fight? He merely orchestrated their battle plan?"

She shook her head, expression grim. "The arrow struck his chest, opposite his heart, and he tore it out on the battlefield, took a torch meant to light their arrows, and seared the flesh shut so he could wield a blade. Then, their archers fired upon the trees behind our soldiers and set the forest ablaze. Most couldn't retreat because of the smoke; they were outnumbered by a couple thousand Danes, and Kol Mikaelson was laughing, eyes filled with glee because his idea had worked." Elena's voice shook slightly as she finished. "He has a twisted, vile imagination," she spat, turning to leave.

"I won't trust him," Jeremy assured her, though he doubted her words still. Kol had offered to teach him magic, after all, and the Dane had sounded more irritated than anything at the idea of genuinely harming him.

Once he was alone once more, he undressed quickly, eager for the comfort of sleep. Climbing under the covers, he found himself lying in bed, watching a candle's flickering light cast shadows on the walls of his room. As he learned more about Kol, he found it increasingly difficult to reconcile the image of a war-crazed Dane with the witch who had offered to instruct him. He knew he should be terrified of the youngest son of Mikael, but he needed his knowledge if he was to have any hope of utilizing his power. Consciously, he knew it was an awful idea; there were so many things that could go wrong, the worst of which would get him beheaded. However, he trusted his betrothed, strangely enough.

Despite what Elena had told him, Jeremy refused to accept that Kol was a monster. At dinner that evening, the Dane had seemed hurt at the insinuation their marriage would be a farce. Part of Jeremy could relate to him, on a level; he had hoped to be married happily one day, but now, he had that choice taken from him. He couldn't love Kol the way he would a woman; even if he considered it, craved to try it even, he couldn't let himself. He was doomed to spend his life alone, though he supposed he and his betrothed had that in common. The morals imposed by his people ensured he wouldn't take a lover after he was married, but would Kol abide by the same principle? He doubted it. Why did that bother him so? He berated himself mentally, shoving the thoughts away as best he could.

It didn't matter that he was marrying Kol in the afternoon, or that the Dane would teach him about magic. He didn't care for Kol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry this one was a bit short, but I wanted to get to their wedding without rushing it too much.
> 
> Klaus is, in fact, still a werewolf in my AU, if that wasn't obvious from Elena's description of him, and more about that will come later. That aside, I hope Jeremy's uncertainty isn't too forced. I've never written anything quite like that before, so it's a learning experience for me, too. I also wanted to make Elena more perceptive, hence her reasoning for why Mikael sent Kol to marry Jeremy instead of Rebekah.
> 
> Not much for this chapter since it was short, but as always, I love reading comments and kudos mean the world to me. Happy holidays, my lovely readers!
> 
> Until next time,  
> ~Aylin


	3. The Differences We See

Kol awoke to a sharp knock on his door. With a sigh, he blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the morning light streaming in through the windows and got out of bed, finding himself facing two young girls when he answered the door--a pale blonde with bright blue eyes and a brunette with sun-kissed skin and brown eyes.

"Good morning! I'm Caroline, and this is Bonnie," the blonde chirped, pushing past him gently to enter the room, her companion in tow. "We're princess Elena's handmaidens, and we were assigned to you this morning to help you prepare for your wedding. Obviously, everyone was expecting your sister, but we're here to make the best of things."

"Sorry about her rambling," Bonnie cut in. "You can take a seat, and we'll worry about the rest."

Kol's eyes flickered between them for a few moments, a bit surprised anyone thought he needed servants to get dressed, before complying. "I'm Kol," he introduced himself, omitting his title in favor of informality.

"Trust me, we already know who you are," the dark-skinned girl teased.

"Our first priority is your hair," the blonde announced, pulling out scissors and a comb as she spoke.

"Let me guess," Kol smirked, realizing why he had been delegated to them. "It's too Danish, and you're meant to make me look like as much of a Saxon as you can in a few hours."

Both girls let out soft chuckles, doing their best to mask their relief, though he saw through it. He assumed they had been warned about him, that he was barbaric and cruel, so he didn't take much offense. He had undone the braids in his hair the night before, so it hung loosely to his shoulders. Caroline looked hesitant holding the scissors, as if she thought he would take them from her and stab her with them, but after a few moments, she seemed to gather her confidence and began cutting his hair.

"We've heard about your siblings and your reputation on the battlefield, but what I want to know is how you can speak English," she declared, seemingly unconcerned with him.

"My mother was born a Saxon," he answered, smiling at her in hopes it would ease her nerves. "She tried to teach all my siblings to speak her mother tongue, but I was the only who bothered to become fluent. I've always had an interest in others' ways of life, their languages."

"You talk like someone who's traveled the world," Bonnie mused aloud.

"I've never even been to my father's homeland," Kol confessed, garnering looks of shock from both girls. "I was born here, after my father established his estate in Northumbria. I had always intended to explore, but things change," he finished with a grimace, thinking of his engagement. "Would you mind telling me about him? Jeremy, that is."

"He's kind, especially to the servants," the brunette started. "He cares about his people, though he doesn't enjoy fighting or war. Jeremy is one of my closest friends, and he's loyal to the people he cares about, regardless of the consequences; it's what everyone--those who know him personally and the people of Northumbria alike--loves about him."

Caroline stepped back to admire her work, brushing a few strands of hair from the Dane's shoulder.

"Can he love me, do you reckon?" Kol breathed, words laced with hope and desperation. He had to know, before he married this Saxon, if there was any chance it could be real. "I mean to say, is he attracted to men at all?"

Caroline let out a soft gasp at his question, and she looked sad for him as she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but he isn't, as far as I know. Generally, our people condemn such things as immoral, but an exception was made for the sake of peace," she explained, apologetic. "Since you asked, does that mean you're--" she trailed off, unsure of how exactly to call it.

He nodded, knowing what she was trying to ask. "When my father told me I would be married to a child of King Grayson, I convinced him to request Jeremy for the alliance because--" he paused briefly, blushing. "You'll find it foolish, but I chose him because I wanted someone I could fall in love with."

"It's not foolish at all," the blonde insisted. "I think you should tell him that you want to give this arrangement a chance. Perhaps Jeremy will surprise you."

"At dinner last evening, I gathered that he finds the idea repulsive," Kol admitted with a sigh. "Never mind that, what's your next task?" He hoped the girls would accept the change of subject, and they did, to his relief.

"There's a bath waiting for you," Bonnie said before her companion could, shooting Caroline a look that had the blonde pursing her lips. The Dane suspected she had wanted to continue talking about his betrothal.

Grateful that he wasn't being questioned further, he allowed himself to be led to an adjoining room with a large wooden tub, filled with water and strewn with rose petals. To Kol's surprise, the two servant girls started to undress him.

"What are the two of you doing?" he asked, bewildered. "Can Saxon nobles really not undress themselves?" he quipped, laughing outright when both stared at him blankly.

"Danes don't have servants to help them dress--and later undress?" Caroline asked.

He shook his head through his laughter. "Some nobles have servants to braid their hair, but to put on a tunic? I should hope not."

Kol pulled the light tunic he wore over his head, garnering a gasp from Bonnie as he mentally berated himself for forgetting his surroundings. He should have anticipated such a reaction, given the scars that were strewn across his entire body. There was one a few inches to the right of the center of his chest, where he had been struck with an arrow at his first battle two years earlier. A dark line marred his abdomen, where a man called Olaf--former leader of Mikael's army--had gashed him in a fight for control of it, when his father first sent him away. A plethora of white lines danced across his arms from shallower cuts, long since healed. On his back, Huginn and Muninn were inked into his skin, the intricate design sprawling across his shoulder blades and trailing down to brush the center of his spine. It wouldn't do him any good to ponder which of these merited their reaction, so he simply finished undressing and got into the bath, sighing as the hot water met his skin.

"How old are you, Kol?" Bonnie finally murmured, looking down at him from where she stood next to Caroline.

"I saw my seventeenth year this past winter," he replied, starting to scrub at his skin. "I know why you ask--you believe I'm too young to be so marred--but my people are different from yours."

"The worst of your scars look old, at least a year or two. That means you were barely out of childhood when your father sent you to lead his army," she countered. "We've heard about that, how you were cast out by Mikael and put in charge of the forces in Northumbria."

"No matter what you did, sending a boy of fifteen years to war is a monstrous punishment," Caroline added, eyes filled with sympathy as she started to clean his back, staring at his tattoo as if touching it would sear her fingertips.

"My father is a monster, but it wasn't a punishment," Kol corrected them, tone clipped. "I never cared for battle or violence, and when I was fifteen, my father deemed that a weakness and corrected it, not that it matters now." He sighed, running his hand idly over a scar on his right thigh, left by an arrow; in the presence of the two servants, he was annoyingly conscious of every mark. Though Elijah and Niklaus had faced many more battles during their campaign in Mercia, he knew he had far more scars; he was the weakest of Mikael's sons, the easiest to damage. "Care, you know I can feel my back, right? You've been avoiding washing anything remotely close to my tattoo."

He glanced back at her to find her blushing. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, drawing a laugh from Bonnie.

"I'm not afraid of it," Caroline huffed indignantly. "I just got distracted; it's beautiful." She touched his left shoulder blade, as if testing whether or not the ink would rub off, tracing a design that resembled a wing. "What is it?"

"Huginn and Muninn, the twin ravens of Odin, the All-Father," he explained. "They watch over the world to tell him of it. Though ravens are known as birds of carnage, Huginn and Muninn represent knowledge. It symbolizes the joining of brutality and intellect."

"How can the two possibly be combined?" Bonnie inquired, dubious.

The Dane rose, sending the girls into a rush to fetch him a towel, though he wasn't bothered by the chill. His father had forced him to spar in the winter as he did the rest of the year, so he pushed himself to endure the cold lest he accept the beating that came with a failure.

"There is a wisdom found in war, as the mind can refine battle. Through conflict we learn, and with knowledge, battles are either won or lost," Kol declared with a smile, drying himself. "There is a rush when you find victory in the mind before claiming it on the battlefield."

He let Bonnie and Caroline dress him in a deep blue tunic with gold embroidery over trousers that he guessed cost more than his sword. If not for his nerves, he would have been curious as to how they acquired clothes that fit him on such short notice--even the shoes fit--but he didn't pay it any mind at the moment. Finally, the girls stepped back, looking quite pleased with themselves.

"How do I look?" Kol chuckled, running a hand through his hair, now short.

Caroline beamed. "Jeremy will forget you're a Dane until tonight, unless you think we can hide the tattoo as well."

His smile faltered, and she immediately looked guilty for mentioning it at all. "I had forgotten about that, truth be told," he muttered. "I expect your traditions are similar to ours?"

"If you're asking whether or not you're required to consummate your marriage, then yes," Bonnie informed him, apologetic. "Traditionally, minor nobles would bear witness, but I doubt that will be an issue."

"Marvelous! Rather than directing his anger towards Saxon nobles, Jeremy will hate me instead," the warlock deadpanned.

"He won't hate you," Bonnie insisted, hugging him briefly. "I know we just met, but everyone needs friends at the palace. Caroline and I will be yours."

"I think I would enjoy that greatly," Kol admitted, smiling slightly at the gesture.

With a shuddering breath, he turned to the heavy wooden doors, the last thing between him and his marriage. He pushed them open, retracing his steps from the evening prior to enter the main hall, which had been decorated sparsely with candles. A priest stood at the end, with Jeremy at his side. King Grayson and Jeremy's mother, Queen Miranda, stood with Elena a few feet from the Saxon prince, and Kol noticed how utterly alone he was. Nevertheless, he stepped forward, moving to stand across from his betrothed.

He extended his right hand to take Jeremy's left, letting the priest's words wash over him as a deep blue scarf was wrapped around their joined hands--a symbol of their union. He knew he was tuning out most of his own wedding, but he couldn't bring himself to listen, to allow himself to acknowledge it as reality.

"Do you accept the Danish Prince Kol, son of the warlord Mikael, as your lawful spouse?" the priest finally intoned, glancing at the Saxon and ensnaring the Dane's attention.

Jeremy looked at him, as if to brace himself for their future together. "I do."

The elderly priest nodded, turning to Kol. "Do you accept His Royal Highness, Prince of Northumbria, as your lawful spouse?"

"I do," Kol breathed, the simple words clawing their way from his throat.

As the priest unbound their hands, a servant he hadn't caught sight of before stepped forward, carrying two silver bands. They each took one, and the coolness of the metal against his skin as Jeremy slid the ring onto his finger was jarring. He returned the gesture, ignoring how his hands shook; he hoped no one would notice.

"Very well. By the power vested in me, and by the power of His Majesty, the King, I now pronounce you married," the priest declared.

Kol froze, waiting for someone to move. He knew what came next in a traditional wedding, but this union was far from ordinary. Jeremy didn't kiss him, and he didn't dare do anything himself. His new husband seemed relieved that the ordeal was over, taking his hand and waiting for the King to leave before following his family to the banquet hall. Kol was grateful that he was soon led to the same seat he had occupied the night before, where he merely sat and feigned interest as the king made a brief announcement for a measly assortment of nobles and church officials. He could feel their stares, knew they were ogling the Dane who they had managed to rope into a Christian marriage, though he himself was pagan still. The king sat down, and servants flooded into the room, arms laden with platters of food. He scanned each face, but Caroline and Bonnie were nowhere to be found, much to his disappointment.

"Are you alright?" Jeremy murmured, looking genuinely concerned, though the Dane wasn't sure if that was for him or the health of their alliance.

"It's just lots of new things," Kol replied, reaching for his goblet and taking a long sip. The wine Saxons favored was both sweeter and stronger than the ale he was used to, but that was one change he welcomed.

"You should eat something," the Saxon urged, glancing pointedly at the wine.

The Dane knew full well his husband was right, but he also dreaded their approaching wedding night. The last thing he wanted was to be sober for any of it, and if he ate anything, the alcohol's effect would be mitigated. He took another sip of wine. "Why are you concerned?" he snapped, irked by the other man's look of disapproval.

"If you poison yourself with alcohol now, this alliance falls apart, and your father will kill my people," Jeremy retorted.

Kol scoffed. "If you're so eager to have this arrangement officiated, why are we still sitting here?" He drained his goblet to punctuate the question, blinking a few times as he noticed his vision starting to blur.

In response, his husband rose swiftly, whispering a few words to his father--presumably dismissing them both from dinner. He took the Dane's hand, for which he was grateful because his balance was deteriorating by the second, practically dragging him from the room. They strode through hallways Kol didn't recognize until he found himself in a bedroom he hadn't seen before. How had they gotten there? He wracked his brain for an answer but couldn't recall the steps they'd taken, not that it truly mattered.

The wine hadn't done much to calm his nerves; if he didn't know better, he would think Jeremy could hear his heartbeat thudding in his chest. The Saxon stood a mere inches from him, and if Kol leaned forward, they would be kissing. It seemed Jeremy had the same idea, pressing their lips together before the Dane could form another coherent thought. After his muddled mind caught up to what was happening, he was kissing him back. They broke apart as Jeremy removed Kol's shirt, and then the Dane remembered why he had been anxious to begin with.

His husband's eyes went wide as they raked over his chest, taking in the assortment of scars there, then flicked to his arms, eyeing the marks he bore.

"I can't do this," the Saxon breathed, words coming out in a rush, like a confession.

Kol let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his hope shattering. For a few moments, he couldn't breathe, and he cursed the alcohol. He was an emotional drunk, and he could barely see in front of him, which didn't bode well for his sobriety. "Fokk. Ég fer bara," he said, looking up to see Jeremy's confused expression. He had spoken Icelandic, he realized. "I'll just go," he tried again in English.

As soon as he repeated it, he wished he hadn't. He had nowhere else to go, and they both knew that. He really was a fool, both for believing he had any options and for hoping the other man wouldn't find his scars hideous. They were proof he was weak, that he had allowed himself to be vulnerable.

"Just stay here," Jeremy mumbled, taking his arm lightly. "We can sleep, nothing more. Besides, you're too drunk to find your way around Bamburgh."

The Dane nodded slowly, hating that his husband was right, once again. He hadn't eaten anything that day, having slept through most of the morning before he was awoken to prepare for the wedding, and the alcohol made his situation exponentially worse. Dimly, he felt himself being gently pushed onto a bed; the room was dark. Had Jeremy blown out the candles, or was he starting to black out? Kol didn't think he was that inebriated, but the wine was stronger than the ale he was accustomed to; the latter option seemed more likely. Slowly, his senses faded away--whether from drink, exhaustion, or nerves he couldn't discern--and he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, and happy new year everyone! I'm glad to see you back here. Remember when I said Jeremy was going to narrate most of this story? I honestly don't know if that's going to prove true or not, but it felt right to have Kol narrating this one.
> 
> I did a bit of research into Anglo-Saxon wedding traditions in the Middle Ages, but I don't really think Kol would be bothered by the details, so I left those out, and I took some creative liberties with other things, just because it's already inaccurate due to same sex marriage not being allowed at the time. For the sake of the royal family's history, Jeremy's parents are both alive, and they will get actual personalities later, but at the moment, Kol isn't concerned with them and doesn't interact with them much since he's just arrived at Bamburgh, which was just a major city in Middle Ages Northumbria that I've chosen as the capital, considering the rest of the kingdom is under Danelaw.
> 
> As a general rule, anyone whose status in the supernatural world isn't affected by the immortality spell created by Qetsiyah will remain a supernatural being. Klaus is still a werewolf and Bonnie is still a witch, but Elena is not a doppelganger (nor is Stefan) because Amara and Silas were never cursed. There are also no vampires, since vampires were created by Esther using a version of Qetsiyah's immortality spell, which doesn't exist here.
> 
> I've decided to play with the idea of Kol being friends with Caroline and Bonnie, so expect more on that later! I noticed in canon that he doesn't really have any friends (Klaus was friends with Stefan and Lucien in the past, and Rebekah was once friends with Genevieve and eventually Hayley), so I decided to give him some while Jeremy is having his sexuality crisis. I'm personally not a fan of having a foreign language in the text that is only translated in the author's note because I find it confusing to read, hence why I don't have any. The only word I didn't translate is "fokk" and, uh, if you can't figure that out, I don't know what to tell you (it's an English loan word). Once again, I only speak English, so apologies for any internet translator generated inaccuracies!
> 
> If you can't tell, I love symbols and tattoos, so Kol got one in this story as well! I picked Huginn and Muninn because I think they represent him beautifully; he's obviously different here than in my other work (if you read it), so expect personality divergences due to his backstory/experiences in this AU. I enjoy using my writing as a way to cope with my own thoughts and struggles irl, so he will also be having a very different journey from what I put him through before.
> 
> As usual, feedback of any kind is appreciated, and I look forward to seeing you all in the next one!
> 
> Your author,  
> ~Aylin


	4. Painful Confessions

When he woke up, it took Jeremy a few moments to remember why Kol was in his bed--their bed now, he corrected himself. He remembered dinner the night before, how the Dane had intentionally gotten drunk before attempting to bed him, and he didn't quite know what to make of it. Jeremy was the one who had been bartered for an alliance, so he was perplexed as to why the other witch seemed to dread every aspect of their marriage, even seeming nervous and miserable during the ceremony itself.

He glanced at the silver band on Kol's left hand, feeling a moment of relief for how his wedding night had ended. He had expected his new husband to be more forceful about consummating their marriage, but when he had admitted that he couldn't go through with it, the other man had appeared more dismal than anything. Jeremy propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at him. As he thought the night before, Kol was stunning in the morning light. Though the Dane had a lean build, he was well toned, and the Saxon would be lying if he said he didn't find the scars attractive, though not more so than than the sprawling design inked across Kol's shoulder blades, which appeared to depict two birds. Was his attraction to this man any worse than his having magic? Consciously, he knew his people's traditions were wrong about both--he wouldn't practice witchcraft in secret if he didn't--but acting on that was a different ordeal entirely. It was a step he couldn't take yet, no matter how much he wanted to. He had tried with Kol, had relished in the feeling of kissing him, but it had proved to be too much.

As the Dane started to stir, Jeremy smiled softly at the memory of how drunk the other man had been that night. Against his better judgement, he found it incredibly endearing to have Kol so pliant and open; he had seen the hurt and resignation plainly on his husband's features, rather than the anger he usually portrayed. It seemed there was much about him that Jeremy wasn't privy to.

"Góðan daginn, elskan," Kol mumbled, obviously not fully awake yet. When he sat up, gaze landing on the Saxon, he started blushing, probably recalling the previous evening.

"I'm sorry--" Jeremy started, only for the Dane to cut him off.

"Please, forget it happened," he sighed, the apologetic tone surprising the Saxon. "I'm sorry that I'm--" he trailed off, eyes cast downward. "Never mind that. Do you have any water? My head is killing me."

Jeremy nodded, pouring his husband a glass from the pitcher a servant had left on the nightstand.

"Here's your first lesson in being a witch," Kol declared, draining it quickly. "Magic requires clarity of mind. In other words, I can't do much right now."

"That's because you're hungover?"

The Dane nodded. "Alcohol is one concern, but there are also various herbs that will impair your concentration--lobelia blossom being one of them. Its taste is subtle, so when mixed with anything else, it's almost impossible to detect. Aside from that, any psychedelic will be a similar detriment, so it's best to stay sober whenever possible."

"You were quite inebriated last night," Jeremy quipped.

"I expected to sleep with a man I just met," Kol intoned, stiffening.

The Saxon scoffed at the excuse, given as if their circumstances somehow absolved him of responsibility. "At least you had a choice; if you refused this arrangement, you could go on conquering my people. I was forced into this for their sake, for the sake of peace."

"Well, aren't you a martyr?" his husband retorted bitterly.

"At least I'm not a barbarian, unable to accept the consequences of the path I choose!" Jeremy snapped, and he regretted it when the Dane looked hurt before his expression hardened again.

"How dare you?" he growled. "Do you really think I had a choice in this, that my father--Mikael the Destroyer--cared for the opinion of his most useless son? At least you were given away for peace." Kol hung his head, voice shaking. "My father sold me--sent me to a foreign king to live in a strange country, surrounded by people of a different culture--in exchange for three hundred pounds of gold and silver. Apparently, that's what I'm worth to him." He took a shuddering breath, which didn't do much to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks. "Forgive me if I wish to be numb for most of this ordeal."

The Saxon fell silent, processing. He hadn't considered that, truth be told, and he felt guilty for how he had treated his husband thus far.

"It's not your fault," Kol murmured, as if reading his thoughts. "My father could have walked away. He is wealthy in both coin and land, but he threw me away for a little bit more, which I suppose I ought to be accustomed to at this point. I'm not worth much to anyone, it would seem. By Odin, you didn't even want to bed me."

Jeremy's eyes widened in shock. Did the other man truly think that was his fault somehow? That he had fallen short in some manner? "That wasn't because of you," he insisted. "Well, it was, but not in the way you believe."

"You don't find them hideous? The scars?" the Dane breathed, words laced with disbelief.

"No," the Saxon replied. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he couldn't. He couldn't tell Kol that he found him stunning, or that he had dreamt about running his tongue over those marks on his chest. He couldn't say that he wanted to trace that intricate tattoo with his lips, that he would lean in and kiss Kol again if he could gather the nerve.

"Do you have any plans today?" Kol asked, the question catching him off guard. His husband had donned a more casual expression, some of the tension in his shoulders fading. "We can start doing some simple spells if you don't. My head is starting to feel better already."

"That would be nice." Jeremy smiled, getting out of bed. "Before I forget, your sister, Rebekah, sent some of your things to the castle yesterday morning. I had some servants move everything here, since this will be our room now."

He glanced over his shoulder to find the Dane chuckling. "Only Bekah would fret over what I'd wear when she heard I was to be married to you," he explained, rolling his eyes fondly. "My father and I exchanged letters while we organized this, as I was still with our army while he remained at our fortress. I only found out when I was scheduled to marry you a few days prior, so I didn't get a chance to return home before I came to Bamburgh."

The Saxon turned to change, assuming Kol would do the same. It really was intriguing how the other witch could transform his demeanor so quickly, having gone from anger to levity in a matter of moments. He seemed calmer now, almost lighter, and Jeremy wondered if this was common amongst Danes, or if it was merely a trait of Kol's.

"Marvelous! You're dressed." His husband beamed at him, beckoning him over. "For your sake, I hope Rebekah packed more than just clothes."

The Saxon watched the other witch dig a few things out of his bag--a few stones engraved with runes, a knife, a folded map, and herbs Jeremy had no hope of naming. Kol seemed satisfied, unfolding the map and weighing the corners down with rune stones as he sat down on the floor, motioning for Jeremy to join him.

"All magic requires you to feel the world around you and harness its energy. Most spells are shared through putting them into words, but truly, the words are unneeded. All language is merely a creation of people; it's the intent behind them that matters," Kol explained. "Since you're new to magic, I don't know if you'll be able to do any magic without an incantation, but the only ones I know are in Old Norse, an ancient language of my people. My mother practiced in Latin before she married my father, but she never taught me any of her spells. She thought it was more important for me to understand magic rather than repeating her words, so she had me write my own, and I don't know Latin." He paused, blushing in what Jeremy realized was embarrassment. "Is there any chance you know Old Norse?"

"No, and I don't know any Latin either, if that makes you feel better," Jeremy replied, to which his husband smiled softly.

"I suppose I could teach you by repetition," the Dane mused, taking the Saxon's hand in his own. "We're going to do a tracking spell on me," he declared, pulling a silver necklace from around his neck and handing it to Jeremy. "You need something of mine," he explained.

"What is this?" Jeremy asked, studying what appeared to be a rune carved into the metal.

"Protection charm; I made it myself," Kol replied, wrapping the fingers of the Saxon's right hand around the metal, still warm from when it rested against the Dane's skin. "The incantation is ᚢᛁᚦᚢᚨᛏᚱ ᛖᚱ ᚠᚨᛚᛁᚦ, ᚢᛁᛊᛟᛊᛊᚱ ᚺᚢᚨᛏ ᚢÉᚱ ᛚᛖᛁᛏᚨ. When you say the words, picture me in your mind; it works best if you can try to remember what my presence feels like. Everyone has one, if you learn to sense it, but us völva stand out, so it should be easier to track me than an ordinary human. Ready?" he asked, eyes shining with excitement. He obviously loved his craft.

"I think so," the Saxon declared, taking a deep breath.

Without warning, the Dane took the knife and sliced it across his palm, clenching his fist so that a small puddle of his blood gathered on the map. "Remember, concentration is key," he chirped with a grin, and the Saxon realized that must have been part of the spell.

Jeremy closed his eyes, thinking about Kol--his presence, his energy. "Vithvatr er falið, visossr hvat vér leita," he sounded out what the other witch had said phonetically, hoping for any indication it was working. He sighed, feeling nothing.

"Keep going," his husband urged him, probably sensing his hesitation.

"Vithvatr er falið, visossr hvat vér leita," the Saxon repeated, focusing on the sound of Kol's voice. "Vithvatr er falið, visossr hvat vér leita!" He gasped, feeling a rush of energy; he could sense the Dane next to him--an almost frenetic presence. Eyes flying open, he grinned when he saw a trail of blood leading to the castle of Bamburgh.

"Not bad, for your first time," Kol praised him with a chuckle. "ᚠᚱᛖᛁ, ᛚᛇᚲᚾᚨ ᚺᚢᚨᛏ ᛖᚱ ᛊᚲᛖᛗᛗᛞᛁᚱ, ᛚÉᛏᛏᚨ ᛊᛁᚾᚾ ᛊÁᚱᛊᚨᚢᚲᛁ," he said, the foreign syllables rolling off his tongue easily. Amazed, Jeremy watched as the cut on his hand healed, the flesh knitting itself back together before his eyes.

"Will you teach me?" he breathed.

"In due time," the Dane assured him, smiling. "Healing spells are more complicated; get it wrong, and you may end up causing your death instead. I've been studying magic for most of my life."

"How long is that?" the Saxon inquired.

"For as long as I can remember--at least twelve years," Kol replied.

"How old are you?" Jeremy asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"Seventeen," his husband answered, and he was glad the other witch wasn't too much older than him.

"I'm sixteen," Jeremy said. "I'm sorry if it's not my place, but why would your father not send one of his older sons for this arrangement? Surely, it would be their responsibility, since you're a bit young to be married, not that I'm much older, but--" he cut himself off abruptly, embarrassed with his rambling.

The older witch froze, fidgeting with his wedding ring. "My father only cares about his own status, and as far as he can see, I'm no longer of any use to him, " Kol finally muttered bitterly. "My brothers all serve a purpose, but not me. There isn't any more land to conquer in Northumbria aside from what belongs to your family, and my father intends to inherit it through me."

"Does he know you're a witch?" Does he know he sent you to a place where you might be executed? He didn't voice his true question, but his husband understood.

"Yes."

The word made his chest ache. What kind of father would do such a thing to his youngest son?

"There is something else I must confess," Kol breathed shakily. "I had hoped you wouldn't be so miserable in this arrangement, that I wouldn't feel so guilty, but that isn't the case. The reason I am married to you instead of Elena is because I convinced my father to ask for you."

"What do you mean?" Jeremy ground out, voice quavering.

"My father wanted me to marry Elena, at first, because she is the eldest sibling, but I convinced him to choose you instead because you are the legal heir to your father's kingdom. I persuaded him that using me to inherit these lands would serve him better," the Dane explained, unable to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry; I saw how miserable you were these past couple of days, and I--"

He was cut off by Jeremy ramming his fist into his face, sending him sprawling across the floor, and the Saxon heard the sickening crack of bone. "You ruined my life!" he hissed, thinking only of the family he would never have, the choice he'd never get to make. He rose to his feet as the other witch winced in pain; his nose was probably broken, but it was nothing compared to what he'd done to the younger man. Jeremy kicked him in the ribs, but Kol didn't make a sound. It was infuriating; the Dane was barely reacting, and he wasn't fighting back. The younger witch kicked him again, earning a few raspy breaths. "You aren't even going to do anything?" he snapped.

"I've had worse," the older witch replied through coughs.

If it were any other time, Jeremy might have stopped, wondering who else had hurt the Dane, but he was too angry to care. He kicked him again, and Kol slammed into the bedpost. "Have fun healing yourself!" he spat, to which Kol said nothing, probably preoccupied with his injuries. The Saxon was sure he fractured a few ribs.

He turned to leave, feeling like a monster as he caught sight of Kol lying in a heap on the floor, blood running down his face. The younger witch's boot must have met his head at least once, because there was a gash near his left temple that sent blood trickling into his eye. He shoved away the parts of him that wanted to apologize. Kol had taken his choice away, the same way Mikael had when he forced the king's hand. Jeremy walked away, ignoring the slowly ebbing energy he felt radiating from his husband, its warmth growing dimmer the more distance he put between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! Thanks for reading yet another chapter.
> 
> As promised, I took the premises of magic from TVD, but the spells themselves are written by yours truly. I wrote them in English, then translated them into Old Norse (phonetically) and replaced a few words with Icelandic, after which I translated it into Elder Futhark runes using an online translator. I use the runes when Kol says them because it's a language he knows and speaks, but when Jeremy says them, I use western characters because Jeremy is just saying the spells phonetically. I hope it reads ok! Dahlia and Freya are known to use spells in a mixture of Icelandic, Norwegian, and Danish in TVD and TO instead of the Latin spells used by most other witches or the ones with French roots used by the NOLA covens, so I have Kol using a similar type of magic (mixture of Icelandic and Old Norse). "Góðan daginn, elskan" means "Good morning, darling." It's intentionally not translated because Jeremy doesn't speak Icelandic, and it doesn't make sense for Kol to repeat it in English. You didn't miss much if you didn't know what it means, but I'll just leave it here if you were curious. 
> 
> Historically, the Danes would have spoken Old Norse (using the Elder Futhark runic alphabet) because Danish didn't exist yet as its own language, but I have them speaking Icelandic because Old Norse to English translations are harder to do (some words don't translate properly and end up being replaced by Icelandic anyway), and I didn't want to just label Icelandic as Old Norse, although it is the most similar modern language because Iceland was colonized by Vikings and the language evolved much slower than what was spoken on the mainland due to contact with Anglo-Saxons. Also, the Saxons at the time would have used the terms Viking and Dane synonymously, so whether they're actually from Denmark or not is unclear. TVD offers no answer one way or another, but I imagine Mikael to originally be from Norway (not Denmark) because the first Vikings to come to England were from Norway.
> 
> As always, I love reading feedback, so make sure to leave anything you'd like in the comments!
> 
> Your author,  
> ~Aylin


	5. Unbreakable Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't catch it already, "fokk" is Icelandic for "fuck." I threw it in once in this chapter, and I will probably continue to do so when Kol is narrating because he mainly speaks English, though Icelandic is his first language. It made sense to me to have him speak it when emotional or frustrated.
> 
> I won't be translating that anymore henceforth, but it's here if you forget.
> 
> End notes have spoilers for TO.

Alone at last, Kol let himself feel the rage that had been threatening to escape its tenuous leash. He sat up, leaning against the bedpost, and if he hadn’t learned better, he would have rammed his fist into the ground.

Mother had once said that his anger was powerful, that it would serve him well if he used it properly. Mikael certainly had, ravaging most of Northumbria in only a few years. Niklaus, on the other hand, let his emotions rule him; Elijah tamed his passions, and the two worked well together. Kol had no such luxury, and he liked to think he didn’t make the same mistakes.

He brought a finger to the gash on his temple, exhaling in relief when he felt it was shallow.

“ᚠᚱᛖᛁ, ᛚᛇᚲᚾᚨ ᚺᚢᚨᛏ ᛖᚱ ᛊᚲᛖᛗᛗᛞᛁᚱ, ᛚÉᛏᛏᚨ ᛊᛁᚾᚾ ᛊÁᚱᛊᚨᚢᚲᛁ,” he muttered, groaning when he couldn’t feel anything, his magic unresponsive.

It seemed the head injury was worse than he thought, which didn’t bode well; he knew the pain of a fractured rib well enough to know he had at least one, and his nose was definitely broken. If he couldn’t concentrate, he would have to change the circumstances. _Pain brings clarity,_ his father had once advised. He brought his left hand down onto the stone of the castle floor, gasping when his mind cleared of everything except the skin being torn from his knuckles and the need to heal.

“ᚠᚱᛖᛁ, ᛚᛇᚲᚾᚨ ᚺᚢᚨᛏ ᛖᚱ ᛊᚲᛖᛗᛗᛞᛁᚱ, ᛚÉᛏᛏᚨ ᛊᛁᚾᚾ ᛊÁᚱᛊᚨᚢᚲᛁ.” He sighed as he felt the familiar sting of his wounds repairing themselves.

He blinked a few times, huffing in annoyance when he realized there was still blood in his left eye. He rose, planning on locating the pitcher of water from earlier that morning, when the door creaked open, Caroline and Bonnie bursting in. Kol panicked, sending both to their knees--a basic pain infliction spell--before he realized where he was.

 _Fokk._ He let them go, eyes wide with horror. He watched Bonnie look down, her eyes flickering to the runestones and map he'd retrieved for the tracking spell before settling on him. If his doing magic wasn't incriminating enough, he had been careless enough to leave evidence lying around.

"You're a witch," she concluded, not a hint of doubt lacing her voice as she stood up.

"So is Jeremy," he hissed, gambling that they would be cowed by the need to protect their prince--more importantly, their friend. "Tell anyone what I am, and I will destroy him with me." The blonde took a step forward, and he sent her to the ground again as he moved back, uncomfortably close to the wall behind him.

"Kol, calm down!" Caroline all but pleaded. "We're not going to get you killed. Bonnie's a witch too, and we already know about Jeremy!"

He released the spell at that, stunned. "I can't sense your magic," he muttered, looking at Bonnie. "How is that?"

"I only tapped into my magic a few months ago, but Jeremy has had access to his since he was a child," she offered. "I don't know much about witchcraft; I only found out once my Grams told me I had a gift for magic. She taught me a bit, up until she died of an illness a couple of weeks ago."

"I'm sorry," Kol murmured, thinking of his own mother. He had never known his grandparents, Mikael leaving his parents behind in Norway and Esther losing hers in raids, but he could imagine losing his mother, who had taught him most of what he knew of magic. "It's possible that your grandmother's spirit has been protecting you, even after death. It would certainly explain why your energy seems to be hidden from me, despite you not using a cloaking spell."

He saw her about to ask why before catching herself, probably remembering that he was a Dane. If her grandmother knew he was a völva as well, it made sense to be afraid of him.

"Oh my god, I completely forgot why we came here!" Caroline exclaimed, exasperated. "You can have your witchy talk later. I want to hear about your wedding night! Obviously, it didn't go so well." She rolled at her eyes at Kol's affronted expression. "You have blood in your eye," she defended herself, laughing.

"Well, now that you're here, why don't you draw me a bath so I can fix that?" he suggested with a smirk. "I expected princess Elena to have far better handmaidens, but you're not very diligent."

"I'll have you know I'm one of the best in the castle!" she insisted, narrowing her eyes at him. "You'll have your bath soon, just you wait."

As she whirled on her heel, striding to the tub situated in the adjourning room, Kol and Bonnie shared a smile at her determination.

"While we wait, what's your opinion on day drinking?" he asked the dark-skinned witch.

"I think it's the perfect thing for us to do while you fill us in about last night," she replied, looking pleased at his annoyance that she remembered the original purpose for the visit. "Wait here."

She slipped out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a pitcher of wine, three goblets, and a platter of fruits and cheeses.

"You'd be surprised how fast the guards can get things delivered if you say it's for Kol Mikaelson," she quipped. "It's like they're terrified you'll cleave their skulls in two if you're unhappy."

He scoffed, picking a few raspberries from the plate. "It seems they're the only ones who feel that way." He popped the fruits into his mouth, looking up as Caroline reached over to take a cup from Bonnie.

"You better not be telling her anything interesting while I'm busy," the blonde warned.

"Not at all." He held up his hands in mock-surrender, following her across the room.

He undressed quickly, frowning when he noticed the bath water wasn't heated.

"I want to see you heat it yourself, with magic," Caroline said, perched on a bench next to the other handmaiden.

He sighed, though he wore a fond expression. "ᛖᛚᛞᚢᚱ," he muttered dipping his hand into the water and waiting for a few moments. "Happy?" he asked, getting into the tub and sighing when he felt the scalding water against his skin.

"Very much so." She poured them all a cup of wine. "Now, I have to ask-- Did you ask for this bath as revenge for us coming here unannounced, or do you just have a thing for being naked around pretty young women?"

"Neither," the Dane replied, grabbing a goblet and taking a sip. "Saxons probably don't do the same, but it's common for us Danes to bathe every Saturday, which is today. Plus, you know quite well I'm not interested in women."

"Speaking of which, what happened last night?" Bonnie pressed, curiosity getting the best of her.

Kol sighed, cupping some water in his hands and washing the blood off his face--and out of his eye--before answering. "It certainly could have gone better. I drank quite a bit at dinner, hoping that the entire night would blur in my mind, but I didn't eat yesterday, so I was quite drunk by the time we left the banquet. I don't remember how we got here, but I do know Jeremy kissed me first. He seemed determined to go through with what was expected of us, and it was nice, at first." He paused, taking another drink. "Then, he saw my scars, and he wasn't fond of them. He said he couldn't go through with it, so we stopped. I wanted to leave after that, but he noticed how disoriented I was becoming and-- To be honest, I don't know exactly what happened, but I blacked out a short while after," he concluded with a grimace, draining the rest of the goblet.

"This morning, we didn't talk much about it. I started teaching him magic, like I promised him the day we met--when I found out he was a witch. It was going well until I had the brilliant idea of apologizing for choosing him." He winced at the memory. "That's when he beat the Hel out of me. I had just healed myself when you lot showed up."

"You chose him? I don't understand," Caroline jumped in, bewilderment plain across her features. "I thought your father and his arranged this alliance."

"They did, but I was originally meant to marry Elena. King Grayson would have had her terminate her betrothal to Lord Damon if I hadn't convinced my father to have me marry Jeremy instead," Kol admitted. "I didn't mean to ruin his life, I just--" he paused, taking a deep breath. It calmed him slightly, yet he could still feel his heart thudding in his chest as he continued, "I just didn't want to be alone."

He could practically feel them staring, and he resisted the urge to pour himself another drink to battle the unease. It wasn't that he was shy at all about his state of undress, but rather that he abhorred feeling watched, judged even, by those around him.

"Consciously, I know he's just upset at not having a say in the matter, but the thought that he wouldn't be if I were a woman won't abandon me. It encircles me slowly, and one day, I fear it will tighten its hold and choke the life from me." More than anything, it stung that Jeremy rejected him for something he couldn't control, his romantic preferences, but he forced his worry about his marriage away. "That's enough about me. Tell me about your lives, anything at all," he encouraged the women, grateful for Bonnie's cutting in before her friend could continue her interrogation.

"When I was a young girl, my Grams would tell me stories about how she came to Northumbria by the Silk Roads," the other witch declared, quieting Caroline with a glance. "Before she was born, her home was conquered by Arabs, and eventually, the ruling dynasty began to condemn any religion other than the Islam they brought with them from the Arab peninsula. My great-grandmother was Christian, and when she heard of Christian kingdoms on an island, she took the first opportunity she could to find them."

"Your ancestors sound courageous," Kol said honestly, which was no small praise coming from a Dane. Bonnie grinned, acknowledging this. "Was it your grandmother who taught you to braid?" he asked, gesturing to the elaborate braids she wore, woven into her dark hair and pulled back at the nape of her neck.

She nodded, straightening as she took on a look of pride that he doubted she even noticed. "My Grams did them before she died, and now I do them myself. I'm not as skilled as she was, and some days, I grow so frustrated I want to tear out my hair, but I grew up on stories about how these braids are a sign of prosperity, and I can't help but be proud of them, no matter how messy they end up when I braid my own hair. My great-grandmother was from the Ashanti tribe, and my Grams always said that, even though I was born in Northumbria, I am too."

"You've never told me that before, Bon," Caroline said, looking over at her friend.

"You never asked," the dark-skinned girl pointed out.

He ran a hand through his short hair, grimacing as he remembered they had cut it short, in Saxon fashion, the day before.

"Hand me a towel, would you? I think it's about time I find the library in this castle," he asked Bonnie, suddenly impatient to be dressed. He had never felt more exposed, being stripped of anything distinctly Danish that could be altered. He was certain King Grayson would have ordered Elena's two handmaidens to get rid of his tattoo if it were possible.

He dried himself quickly and got dressed, pulling on a deep red tunic over dark trousers and boots. He fastened his sword to his belt, though he likely wouldn't need it; nevertheless, he took comfort in knowing he had a way of defending himself other than magic if Jeremy came to the conclusion he'd rather be a widower. Kol still felt naked though, as if he were vulnerable to anything at Bamburgh, and he supposed he was, in a way. His father had the gold and silver he desired, and he was more than capable of conquering the remnants of Northumbria should he not inherit it. The youngest Mikaelson doubted he'd receive help from his father, even if his life were in danger.

Kol strode back to the bedroom, locating the trunk of his things and rifling through it to find a small mirror. He hadn't looked at his earrings since before he arrived at the castle, and as drunk as he had been on his wedding night, he needed to see that they all remained with him. It was a foolish thing to concern himself with, but he had worn them for years--plain silver rings that each represented one of his siblings. He sighed in relief when he saw three in his left ear, each for one of his older brothers, and one in his right for Rebekah, his only sister. However, he winced at the sight of his hair.

It wasn't that Caroline had done a poor job cutting it--she had done quite well, in honesty--but it was too short to braid. It reminded him of what his people did to thralls, which he supposed he was. Though there was no official bond of servitude, he knew he had no choice but to obey King Grayson, who was--after all--his new lord. Kol had been sold by his father, as if he were a common slave, and it wouldn't astonish him if that was how Mikael perceived him, a cowardly creature who had sacrificed his honor for peace.

He donned a few rings, smiling at the familiar weight of them, glad to have something that wasn't tailored to Northumbria. Still, he knew he wasn't free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry if this one was a bit slow, but there will be more excitement and interaction between Jeremy and Kol soon. I just wanted to take some time to establish Caroline and Bonnie as characters.
> 
> At the start, when Kol hurts his hand to focus on casting a healing spell, that's not some form of self harm, as it's done out of practicality. Pain triggers adrenaline, which can improve concentration.
> 
> On a lighter note, if you've noticed there's a lot of bath scenes, that's because the Danes (remember that "Dane" and "Viking" are used interchangeably here, as they were during the 10th by Saxons) were known for their hygiene and good grooming habits. Most Danes would have bathed on Saturdays, as Kol mentions, which was more often than Saxons at the time, who didn't have a commonly established practice of when one should bathe. Of course, that's just full baths; the Danes would have cleaned their faces, hands, etc. at other times throughout the week, or if they did something that merited another full bath (like a battle), much like how people don't wash their hair every day.
> 
> Bonnie gets to wear her hair in a protective style because this is the 10th century, meaning there are no modern hair relaxing products or lace front wigs, so it only makes sense. A few centuries before the story takes place, Arabs did conquer north Africa, spreading Islam there and suppressing other religions; before Islam spread to the region, people who lived there were Christian. The Ashanti tribe is native to Ghana, which is in western north Africa--on the Gold Coast. I invented a backstory for Bonnie and her ancestors because, if it wasn't obvious, I like everything to fit logically. I refuse to change her race because there already isn't much representation in the early seasons of TVD, so I ended up doing some internet research to come up with this. The silk roads did connect Africa to England, so Bonnie's family story is historically possible. Also, braids in African culture can be representations of one's tribe, social status, and personality; I wasn't sure what style of braids are specific to the Ashanti tribe, but simply wearing them would be a link to one's ancestors and culture, so it's a source of pride for those who do.
> 
> If you read How to Die, you'd know that, for some reason, I envision Kol with cartilage earrings. Danes wouldn't have worn them, but I see them as a more distinctly "Kol" detail than anything. In TVD/TO he expresses wanting to be part of the family (referring to his siblings), and if you only watched TVD, this is especially obvious in TO, when he expresses distaste for Marcel (Klaus's surrogate son) because while his siblings cast him out, there was always room for Marcel. As such, I gave him the earrings to be a physical reminder of all his siblings. On the topic of Kol's family, Henrik does exist in this AU, and there will be more on that later. Freya does exist too, but like canon, the siblings don't know she exists yet, so since they will not become vampires, they will sadly never meet Freya.
> 
> There was lots of things about hair this chapter, though that was entirely coincidental. There is evidence that the Danes cut the hair of thralls (slaves), which is why many Danes themselves had long hair and wore braids. The long hair was to distinguish themselves from thralls, and it was a sign of social status and wealth. Braids were a practical addition, likely being associated with warriors because they would braid their long hair as that was the most effective way to keep their hair out of the way in battle. For both of these reasons though, hair in Danish and Norse culture during the time period was an indicator of one's worth, in a sense.
> 
> Wow, that is a lot of notes for this one! Sorry it was so history-heavy, but I love history, and I love writing, so combining them is one of my favorite things to do. As always, I love each and every one of your comments, and kudos warm my heart! If I got anything wrong, I'd love for you to let me know as well, as I'm always interested in learning new things.
> 
> Your author,  
> ~Aylin


	6. Apologies and Forgiveness

Jeremy stood in front of the door to the library. He had asked some of the servants where he could find his husband, and they had directed them here. Part of him thought it was a cruel joke, meant to distract him from his purpose. He had known that morning, after he struck Kol, that the day would be anything but pleasant, but he hadn't been prepared for his latest orders.

_Elena stared at Jeremy from across the dining table. He could feel the weight of the silence as they ate, her eyes raking over him, searching for what had changed since they spoke the day before. He knew she was wondering if he had slept with Kol, not that he held her curiosity against her. His father, to his credit, didn't bring up the wedding at all, and his mother looked more worried for his well being than anything, which he appreciated._

_The king cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "Jeremy, now that you're married, I think you ought to begin taking on more responsibility as heir." His father glanced at him pointedly, a look of disapproval in his gaze. Jeremy had avoided any customary duties of leading their men in battle, though he had trained with the royal guard for years. "Thanks to our new treaty with King Mikael, we no longer have to fear attacks from his men, but there are multiple bands of raiders who don't answer to his authority. The warlord has made it clear that he will not protect our lands for us," he continued, lip curling in distaste. "As such, I want you and your new husband to complete that task. We've received reports of Danes attacking villages near the northern border of Northumbria, to avoid the wrath of Mikael."_

_"You want us to drive out the raiders?" the prince clarified, voice shaking. He hadn't faced a battle before, and foolishly, he had hoped he wouldn't have to._

_His father nodded, and Jeremy exhaled sharply, biting his lip. Kol likely hated him. How were the two of them meant to fight alongside one another?_

_"Father, may I be excused for the day?" he asked._

_"Very well, my son. You ought to prepare for your journey; the horses are being prepared for your departure tomorrow morning."_

Jeremy steeled himself, pushing open the heavy wooden doors of the castle library. He glanced around the room, bathed in afternoon light that streamed in through its tall windows. It took him a few sweeps of the many chairs to find Kol, who was curled into an armchair with a mug in one hand and a book in the other. With relief, the Saxon noticed he had healed his injuries.

"You know, that book is in English, and one doesn't generally drink wine in the library," Jeremy quipped, hoping the jest would help them move forward from the morning's fight.

It seemed to have the opposite effect. Kol glared up at him through dark lashes, which the Saxon would have found attractive if not for the expression he wore. "Of course I know the book is in English. I'm not illiterate, and I can read your language nearly as well as my own. I happen to enjoy reading, and I thought I might learn about our people's history," he snapped, setting the book down. "This also isn't wine--or any type of alcohol, for that matter. It's tea made from chamomile flowers; my mother always said it has calming properties."

Jeremy blushed, feeling guilty for jumping to conclusions once again. "I'm so--"

"Instead of apologizing, how about you stop acting reprehensibly?" the Dane cut him off before he could finish. "You've treated me like an animal since we met--you gawked when I used a fork, and you apparently think I'm an uneducated barbarian. You broke my nose and a couple of my ribs this morning when I tried to be honest with you," he huffed, shoulders tense despite his relaxed position. "You treat me like a dog that you kick when you're upset!"

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I was angry, and I--" the younger man paused, taking a breath. "I lost control of my rage."

His husband sighed. "Why did you come here?"

"The king has ordered us to confront a group of raiders near our border. We leave at first light, and I wanted to ensure we would be able to fight together." Jeremy couldn't look at the other witch, knowing he'd find only animosity in his eyes. "I've never been in a battle before, never killed anyone," he admitted. "I don't quite know what to do."

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Jeremy glanced up, staring into Kol's amber eyes. "Don't think about it--the killing. Act because you have to; let yourself feel it, then let it fade away."

"That's how you do it? You don't feel at all?" the Saxon breathed, incredulous.

"Not in battle," the Dane confessed, voice surprisingly soft. "When I fight, it's pure bliss. No emotions, no worries, only the rush of it all. Anything I've bottled up inside is let loose, and being free of it is intoxicating." He took a step back. "I'm going to find one of the servants and have them bring an early supper. I've learned it's best to wake early before a fight; it keeps me calm until the time is right."

Jeremy nodded, though it was barely sunset. He was silent as Kol left, leaving him alone. He sat down in the chair the Dane had vacated, taking a sip of tea, which was surprisingly still warm. Had the other witch enchanted it? It didn't matter, he supposed, shrugging the curiosity away as he let the drink warm him.

"I thought I might find you here," a voice interrupted him. The prince looked up with a start.

"Bonnie. I should have known you'd track me down today," he greeted her with a wry smile.

She sat down across from him. Although she was a servant, they had been friends since he was a child, and in the absence of his parents, they never bothered with formality.

"Care and I talked to Kol this morning. He seemed upset." Bonnie looked at him pointedly, disapproval plain in her gaze. "Luckily for you, he's more hurt than anything. He didn't seem like he wanted to kill you, though he could have. You probably can't sense it, but Kol is powerful; likely more so than either of us."

"He told you?" the Saxon asked, eyes wide as he realized she was referring to their witchcraft.

She shook her head. "Caroline and I showed up while components of a tracking spell were still strewn across the floor. He panicked; used a pain inflicting spell without lifting his hand."

"That's possible?"

"Apparently. It was also stronger than anything I've seen my Grams do," she confirmed. "Despite that, I think, more than anything, he's terrified for his life. The first thing he did once we saw his magic was tell us that you were a witch too, and that he'd bring you down with him if either of us said anything to your father."

"After what I did to him this morning, that doesn't surprise me," Jeremy murmured, taking another sip of tea.

"It should. Jeremy, he could have killed us; instead, he tried to negotiate," Bonnie stressed. She was smiling softly, something he'd come to recognize as a sign she was about to make a connection. The dark-haired witch didn't disappoint. "Kol is different than the rest of his people. Danes don't negotiate, but this one does. Violence isn't his first instinct, Jer."

"Do you mean--" he trailed off for a moment, breathless. "Do you mean to say Kol arranged this? That he chose to come here for peace?"

"It makes sense." Bonnie nodded, and Jeremy's heart sank. "Why else would he apologize for it all? He feels responsible because he is."

"I've been awful to him all this time," he choked out. "God, I've been treating him like a monster, but this whole time, he gave up everything--his home, his family, even his freedom to an extent--so that more people wouldn't have to die."

Mikael was the one who had created these circumstances, who had forced them to either fight or make peace by virtue of his ambition, but Kol had pulled the strings. He could have chosen to conquer what remained of Northumbria, yet he had planted the idea in his father's mind to form an alliance instead. The warlord may have sold his son to the Saxons, but the young Dane had orchestrated the transaction. Jeremy felt a tear roll down his cheek; he recalled how Kol had spoken of it, voice laced with disgust as he talked about how his father had practically thrown him out in exchange for gold and silver; he thought of the dubious expression his husband wore when he had tried to assure him that he hadn't been inadequate in any way, that it was Jeremy who was at fault for their disaster of a wedding night. It was almost as if--

"It's almost as if Kol hates that part of himself, the one that's merciful, kind even," Jeremy breathed.

"I don't know if it's my place to say, but he told Caroline and I about his father's reasoning for making him a general," Bonnie confessed. "Mikael thought his distaste for war was a flaw, and he wanted to remedy that."

"When we did magic together, he seemed light, unburdened. He reminded me a bit of a child, the way his eyes shone with excitement," the prince said, smiling softly. "I think, despite his father's efforts, Kol still has a good heart, but considering how he was raised, I doubt he considers that a good thing."

"I heard from the kitchen staff that the two of you are set to go to battle in the morning. Perhaps you should talk to him during the journey," his friend suggested, though he had a feeling it was more a demand than a request.

"I will; I promise, Bonnie."

She grinned, taking the mug of tea from him. "In that case, you ought to get some sleep."

He nodded, fidgeting with his wedding band. "Do you think Kol will forgive me?" he asked, voice desperate as he rose.

"I think he already has."

Her words followed him as he made his way back to their bedroom. The sun had set during his conversation with Bonnie, but he couldn't bring himself to eat anything. He was far too anxious, and he doubted he would be able to keep anything down.

When he spotted Kol already asleep, he let out a sigh of relief. Jeremy didn't have the courage to face his husband, and he was grateful for an excuse to put it off until the morning. Blushing, he noticed that the Dane wasn't wearing a tunic, likely because it was much warmer in Bamburgh than at Mikael's fortress in the north. Despite the practical explanation, the Saxon couldn't help but wonder if Kol had meant to tease him so, arranging himself so that most of his tattoo was visible.

Jeremy took off his boots, changing into something more comfortable before climbing into bed next to Kol. He was tempted to trace his fingers over the Dane's tattoo, but he paused, uncertain if he should. If they were in Danelaw, he knew no one would pay it any attention if they saw, but at Bamburgh, he couldn't silence the voice that lingered in his mind, telling him it was wrong, sinful even. That voice grew quieter by the day; it had made him restrain his urges for years now, but since meeting his husband, he found that he didn't want to obey it any longer.

Before he could change his mind, he trailed his fingertips across the inked design, savoring the warmth of Kol's skin. Jeremy kissed the other witch's shoulder tentatively, hearing his breath hitch slightly. He smiled, pressing another kiss to Kol's neck. The Dane sighed contentedly, and Jeremy savored the noise as he nipped at the skin there lightly.

Then, he felt Kol shift, ever so slightly, exposing more of his neck. With a start, he pulled back, eyes wide because the other man was awake. He waited for his husband to snap at him; he hadn't asked permission, after all, taking advantage of the fact that he was asleep.

"You don't have to stop," the Dane murmured instead, much to the Saxon's surprise. "Let me guess, you realized you were being an idiot?" Jeremy nodded, blushing. "Good; you can tell me about it in the morning."

Gently, Kol pulled him back down, pressing their lips together. Jeremy gasped at the feeling; he had expected the Dane to take the lead, but he was pleasantly surprised when his husband made no effort to take control, allowing himself to stay pliant beneath the younger man. They broke apart for air, and the Saxon was quick to latch onto the other witch's neck once again, running his hands over Kol's chest as he did.

Suddenly, he felt the Dane push him away lightly. He complied with a frown. "Did I do something wrong?" Jeremy asked, sitting up but still straddling Kol.

"No, but we're not doing anything more tonight," the older man said. "There's a battle tomorrow, so tonight, you should sleep. You'll need your energy, and I would prefer not to be sore for the journey in the morning," Kol murmured with a smirk, making Jeremy blush.

They rearranged themselves so the Dane was settled comfortably in his arms, and he couldn't resist kissing his husband again.

"Good night, elskan," Kol murmured, and Jeremy recognized the foreign word from that morning. Before he could inquire about its meaning, however, he felt the Dane's breathing start to slow once again, and he shook the curiosity away, opting for sleep instead. The older man was right; he would need his energy for the battle to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took a little longer than usual! I was working out a few plot details, but don't worry, we will be getting to some action soon.
> 
> I, for one, am just glad Kol and Jeremy are getting along more. It always pains me to have them fighting, but it was for the good of the plot. I think Bonnie is quite clever, so I love her friendship with both of them. Caroline and Elena will be making more of an appearance in the future, and I'm honestly still deciding if Damon is going to get thrown into the mix.
> 
> As for Kol and Jeremy's relationship, how do you feel about it? I'd love to hear thoughts! I didn't want them to get along immediately because that seemed unrealistic given the circumstances, and I also think it's important for them to have a reason for it. Lots of the things Jeremy does are inspired by how the Saxons historically viewed the Danes--as savages, as uneducated, etc. Kol, for his part, is an almost complete negation of all of those assumptions, which is why it's been so much fun for me to write their dynamic thus far.
> 
> If it slipped your mind from a previous author's note, "elskan" means "darling."
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear any feedback, as comments truly make my day! Thank you all for reading so far.
> 
> Your author,  
> ~Aylin


	7. An Unexpected Development

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of rape.
> 
> Also, there is a conversation about sex later in the chapter (not related to the TW).

The first thing Jeremy noticed when he began to stir was that Kol was already awake. He could feel the Dane's heartbeat, too fast for him to still be asleep, yet the other man made no effort to extricate himself from their bed.

"Morning, elskan," Kol said, still not bothering to get dressed.

In lieu of a response, the Saxon placed a kiss on his neck, earning a breathy sigh and the delightful quickening of his husband's heartbeat. "What is that you keep calling me?" he breathed, pulling away slightly.

"What?" the other witch asked innocently.

"Don't play dumb, Kol. It doesn't suit you," Jeremy quipped, eyes brimming with mirth.

"I thought we might find more important things to talk about, ástvinur," his husband said, avoiding the question once more, this time with another foreign word. "What did you decide last night? I assume something changed."

"My people have always condemned relationships such as ours, if this can even be called a relationship," the younger of the two started, feeling the Dane tense slightly against him. He tried not to let it bother him. "Against all reason, I have always held the same belief, even though I have magic. Witchcraft I could handle, but this? Even now, I don't know how to feel; last night was simpler."

"Do you want this to be a relationship?" the Dane breathed, tentative for once.

Jeremy rolled the other witch onto his back gently and kissed him again, knowing the spell would be broken once he gave his answer. "I don't know," he admitted, pulling away briefly before starting to trail kisses down his husband's chest.

Kol gasped as the Saxon ran his tongue over a scar on his chest, left by an arrow. "Stop doing that," he demanded, biting his lip to hold back a moan.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" the other witch repeated, incredulous. "You can't tell me you aren't certain if you're interested in a relationship and kiss me like that. I'm not here for your convenience, or to warm your bed."

"I know," Jeremy sighed. "I care for you, please know that; I want to be with you, yet I don't know how."

"That's not what I asked," the Dane murmured. "I asked what it is you want, not what you know how to accomplish. Those are two very different things."

He had wanted Kol since the day they met, or at least, a part of him had. It hadn't taken his heart long to steer his head from the doctrine of the Church; believing in their teachings was a challenge for a witch, after all. Still, he doubted he could tell anyone but his husband that truth, that he cared for the older man as he had once felt for Bonnie. No, this was deeper, not an infatuation formed from friendship nor pure desire, but a longing he couldn't articulate. The sun had yet to rise, and the pale moonlight dimmed the Dane's amber eyes, tempering their fire.

"I've only ever been with women before," the Saxon volunteered instead, mentally chastising himself as soon as he voiced the words.

"It's similar enough," his husband stated. "Something tells me that isn't the only thing gnawing at you."

"I'm scared I'll botch things between us, even more than I already have," Jeremy whispered, dejected.

Kol was silent, and for a few moments, the younger witch feared the Dane would agree with him, retracting his offer of a relationship and forgiveness. "My first lover tried to rape me, " Kol finally breathed, and it was infinitely worse than anything the Saxon could have anticipated. "You couldn't do anything worse than that."

"I'm sorry," he said, unsure of what else he could say.

"Don't be; in hindsight, I deserved it," his husband sighed, stunning Jeremy into silence. "I killed him when he tried. It only took three little words, and his blood was boiling; he died screaming, begging me to spare him. He's the first person I ever killed, shortly before my father sent me to war." His eyes, a dim bronze at the moment, were dulled--the exuberance usually visible in them gone--and they were brimming with tears, any desire to retain his composure gone. "I killed more people after that--thousands. Perhaps if he'd broken me before then, or killed me, we wouldn't be here. More of your people would still be alive, and you would have more of your lands."

"It doesn't matter what you've done. No one deserves that," Jeremy insisted.

"Not even Kol í Krókr Refr, scourge of your people? The wily fox who's orchestrated their deaths in battle by the thousands?" Kol demanded, crying openly now. "You were right before; I'm the breed of monster better men fear, the creature they can't counter without losing their souls in the process."

"No; I was wrong before. Bonnie and I figured out that you organized this alliance," the Saxon countered. "How can you be a monster if you're the reason our people have obtained peace?"

"I'm a murderer, Jeremy. As much as I try to convince myself that my father turned me into a monster--" the other witch broke off, taking a breath to steady himself. "I think, deep down, I always have been." The Dane looked up at Jeremy, meeting his gaze for only a moment before tearing his eyes away, as if to hide the tears continuing to pool in them.

Kol blinked a few times, obviously trying to stop himself from crying but failing miserably. "Þetta er fokking fáránlegt!"

"Not that I don't love the way you sound when you speak Icelandic, but I would appreciate some translations," the Saxon quipped, to which the older man broke out into a fit of laughter despite his tears. "What did you say?"

"This is fucking ridiculous," Kol shot back.

"Forgive me for wanting to know what's being said," the younger witch mumbled, a bit stung by the words. He frowned when the Dane looked up at him in utter bewilderment, and then he cursed his own idiocy. "That was the translation, wasn't it?" he asked, blushing slightly, garnering a nod from his husband. "What's ridiculous, Kol?"

"The crying, this conversation, my emotions; I don't know. All of it," came the reply. "I shouldn't be so fokking sundurliðaðar--broken down."

"There's nothing wrong with needing to feel," Jeremy said, smiling at him softly. "I don't think you're ridiculous. I never will."

"As much as I'm loath to do so, we should prepare for our journey today. The sun will be rising soon," Kol suggested, brushing off the Saxon's words and prompting him to remove himself from their bed so the Dane could follow suit. The younger man didn't let it bother him; his husband seemed to take comfort in moving forward, in moving past his pain, if his frustration at being unable to blink away his tears indicated anything, and Jeremy would allow him to do so.

He chose a tunic at random to wear underneath his armor. He allowed himself to prepare without much thought, letting his subconscious guide him.

"You've been holding that armor for a few minutes now. Are you going to put it on anytime soon?" Kol asked, jolting the Saxon back to the present.

He glanced over at the Dane, who was wearing a light chain mail shirt underneath what looked like a Mercian breast plate. The older witch had no other armor, though there was a round wooden shield on his back, and he wore his sword at his left hip.

"I've never had to do this without the servants," Jeremy admitted, surprised when he wasn't met with derision.

His husband held out his hand for the armor pieces, which the younger man surrendered with little hesitation, and began putting them on him, surprisingly efficient.

"You're not wearing much armor, Kol," the Saxon pointed out. "And why do you have a Mercian breast plate? Further, how are you so good at this?"

"I'm fast; wearing too much heavy armor limits mobility," the Dane replied. "As for the breast plate, let's just say my father doesn't believe in letting undamaged armor go to waste."

It took the other witch a few minutes to realize what that meant. The Danes took armor from dead Saxons, and Elijah and Niklaus Mikaelson had fought the Mercians in recent months. Of course, Kol's aptitude at preparing him suggested he had done the same with the Northumbrians he had fought. The thought made a part of Jeremy sick, but he forced himself to push that feeling away; nimble fingers fastened greaves to his legs, and he forced himself to remember that it was Mikael who was responsible for his people's pain, not Kol.

"Done," the man in question declared, eyes raking him over, as if he knew Jeremy would be bothered by his revelation. Perhaps he did.

The Saxon was grateful his husband didn't bring it up, instead interlacing their fingers and leading him to the front gates of the castle. The king's men would be waiting for them with horses; their scouts reported raiders were on their side of the border, which was only a half a day's ride away. To his surprise, the Dane had no trouble retracing their steps through the castle, and they were soon thrust outside to face the sunrise.

"My prince!" the captain of the royal guard, Alaric, called to Jeremy, a look of concern plain across his features. He had trained the prince to fight from a young age, and he considered himself a father figure of sorts. Of course, that meant he was protective of the young Saxon, much to his chagrin.

"Good morning, Alaric," Jeremy greeted him warmly, not relinquishing his husband's hand. "I'm sure you've heard about my marriage. This is Kol."

"Kol Mikaelson, the wily fox. I know him by reputation," the older soldier said, lip curling in distaste.

"Kol, this is my mentor, Alaric. He's captain of the royal guard, and my father has likely sent him on this mission to protect me," the younger witch explained. "The rest of these idiots you see are the Lords Damon and Stefan Salvatore, Lord Tyler Lockwood, and Matt."

"Matt is not a lord?" the Dane inquired, seemingly genuinely curious. "He looks like one, moreso than that Tyler fellow."

Jeremy chuckled. "Matt is just a soldier, and Tyler looks like as much of a lord as you do," he retorted, mounting his horse as his husband did the same. He gestured for the rest of the men to follow suit.

"Am I even a lord, by Saxon standards?" Kol asked. "My father is king, but our bloodline is common, as most our kings are. My people can take power through inheritance or by war."

"No, he isn't!" Tyler declared from behind them, as if the Dane wasn't even present.

"Technically, Tyler is right. Princes are ranked higher than lords, which means you outrank him," Jeremy declared, glaring at his friend.

The Dane gave a soft hum of acknowledgement. "So your lords are like jarls?" he mused after a few moments, as if filling the thought away for himself.

"Enough with politics!" Damon insisted. "What I want to know is whether or not you've actually slept with this one." He eyes Kol warily before looking back to Jeremy, who detected disgust plain in his gaze.

"I haven't, not that it matters," he ground out, conscious of the anger seeping into his tone.

As usual, the elder Salvatore pressed on, having no desire to de escalate the conversation. "Probably for the best, little Gilbert. I hear Danes are beasts in bed, and your new husband has a reputation for being particularly wild."

"What does that mean?" Jeremy asked, suddenly curious and mentally berating himself for it; he doubted the answer would do him any good. In his peripheral vision, he noticed the older witch glaring at the ground in front of them, seemingly determined not to acknowledge their new topic.

"Sometimes, after a battle, soldiers are kept prisoner in Danish encampments, and on even rarer occasions, our forces are successful in liberating them. More than a few I've spoken to have rather interesting stories about Kol Mikaelson. They say, after a battle, he prefers to spend the night in other warrior's tents, with other men; more often than not, it's a few at once," Damon explained, smirking. "All things considered, it's for the best that you haven't slept with him, considering the diseases he's probably carrying. If it makes you feel any better, though, we can probably castrate your new dog."

"If that's what it takes to make you feel better about your own manhood, you can try," Kol quipped, glaring at Damon, who turned a bright shade of red.

"Is he telling the truth?" the Saxon prince inquired, glancing at his husband.

"Yes," the Dane replied simply. "You don't have to look so guilty, elskan, as if it's a secret of mine he's shared. I'm not ashamed of it; unlike you Christians, I don't feel the need to be," he assured the younger witch.

Jeremy fell silent at that; he could tell there was more Kol wanted to say, but he was refraining from it for the sake of their company. Time had passed by them quickly as they conversed, and he imagined they were nearly at their destination. He knew he should be worried about the battle, yet he couldn't help but wonder if Kol would prefer someone more experienced than himself. The older witch likely had no shortage of lovers among his soldiers, after all. He felt his husband staring at him, and sensing the Dane desired a few words away from Damon and the others, Jeremy spurred his horse forward to join Kol at the head of their group.

"About what Damon said, did you have another lover among your soldiers?" Jeremy asked before the Dane could say anything.

"There were a few different men who warmed my bed, but I didn't love any of them," Kol admitted, careful to stay quiet, keeping the nature of their conversation from prying ears. "You should know I don't mind your inexperience; it's not your fault that your people condemn such things."

"I am sorry for that," the Saxon murmured. "At least your people would have allowed you to love whomever you wish openly."

He frowned when Kol balked at that. "If only that were entirely true," he said, shaking his head. "While I can bed whomever I choose, I was always expected to marry a woman eventually and father children. I suppose the gods showed me favor in sending me here instead." He smiled sadly. "Perhaps we could have been married for real in another life, if we had no obligations to religion or family."

"Why not make that this life?" Jeremy pressed. "We will be kings one day; we could change things."

"We will, but not this."

The Saxon huffed in annoyance. "How do you know for certain?"

"Because I know we will do other things, which benefit our people and not ourselves," Kol sighed. "When I was sent to become a general, my father told me the reason he had chosen me for the task while my other brothers were allowed to choose their own paths: I am the one of his sons most fit to rule."

"I don't understand; you're not the eldest," Jeremy interjected, frowning.

"I could have taken the throne if I proved to my people I deserved it," the Dane divulged. "According to my father, my eldest brother, Finn, is too passive to lead; Elijah is too noble; Niklaus too impulsive, driven by his passions; Rebekah too trusting. I, on the other hand, am not weak like they are. No; my failure wasn't an inadequacy of the mind."

"It's your heart," the Saxon finished for him, stunning Kol into silence. "Bonnie figured it out yesterday evening. You pushed your father to seek peace because of your compassion."

"I did; the inheritance of Northumbria was my idea, but when your representatives demanded a marriage along with the treaty, I realized I had done my work too well. My father, now convinced that it was more lucrative to accept a bribe from the king, refused to lose either the treaty or his beloved daughter," the Dane breathed. "My mother told me to be cautious of what I wish for."

Jeremy didn't know how to comfort his husband, but before he could make an attempt, he noticed Kol stiffen, gaze roaming the trees in front of them. The rustle of leaves had the young Saxon paralyzed, Damon similarly tense on his left. Then, the familiar whiz of an arrow tearing through the air sent his mind spiraling; Kol lunged to the side, intercepting it with his left hand mere inches from the younger witch's eye.

He blinked once, then again, eyes wide.

"Dismount, and head for the trees! Now!" Kol gave orders as he moved, pulling his hand back.

The Saxon soldiers, to everyone's surprise, complied with no argument, and Jeremy recognized the fear in their eyes. They had anticipated an enemy they could face on even ground, swords drawn, but that was a fantasy. This was war. He looked to his husband, who had an arrow sticking through his hand. With only a grunt, Kol pulled it out, throwing the shaft to the forest floor.

"Welcome to battle, Christians," the Dane shouted as they retreated to the cover of the forest. "If you want to live, do as I say."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one has taken a bit! I've been working out some plot details and dealing with other work, but I hope to be back on track with updates now!
> 
> Sorry this chapter has been a lot of dialogue, but I promise future ones will be more eventful. This has been a wild ride, since so much has happened, but I hope to be moving closer to the end at a more steady pace now that some character development is out of the way, though there will be more to come. I don't have too many notes for this one, so I'll make it quick!
> 
> The bit about the Danes taking armor from soldiers they defeated is creative license on my part. They would have taken armor from towns and kingdoms they raided, however, and armor was expensive so most soldiers didn't wear much of it. Kol, as a noble, would be able to have a more complete set of armor than common soldiers, but I'm going to be giving him a distinct method of fighting soon, so the armor choice contributes to that. The Dane's view on same-sex relationships is mostly accurate; there are other details on that I will likely be throwing in later, but for the most part, Danes were expected to marry and have families, and anything that directly inhibited that was frowned upon. However, Kol is young and would have been allowed to have relationships with other men so long as it was understood he will eventually marry a woman and that he's the dominant one in the relationship.
> 
> As always, I love reading comments, so please leave one if you have an feedback or thoughts! Thank you so much for reading, and make sure to leave kudos if you enjoyed.
> 
> Until next time,  
> ~Aylin


	8. Trial and Error

Kol sucked in a breath, pressing his hand against the fabric of his trousers in a feeble attempt to staunch the bleeding. The blunt tipped arrow, designed to pierce armor not tear through flesh, had struck bone, fracturing it on its way through his hand; luckily that had brought the arrow to a halt before it hit Jeremy. Fortunately, none of them found it odd he had been able to intercept the arrow so quickly; he had felt an impending danger, and while he would label it instinct, he knew it was magic. He had heard the whiz of an arrow flying past before it happened, and judging from the other's witch's reaction, Jeremy did as well. It wasn't uncommon for witches to have premonitions of the near future; it was full prophecies that were rare.

"What's your plan, Dane?" Tyler asked, glaring at Kol as the witch flexed his fingers, trying to shake the numbness from them.

"They're hidden in the trees, and they likely think we'll try to fight them in the open," the Dane explained. "We're going to surprise them; find them in the forest and kill them one by one."

"We can't pinpoint their location!" Alaric protested. "I'd rather die fighting with a blade than by an arrow to the back."

"You may not be able to, but I can," Kol insisted. "Trust me, and all of you will make it through this skirmish alive." The older soldier looked dubious of his assurances, and he sighed heavily before pulling back his sleeve to show his arm ring, a band made of gold that wrapped around his right wrist. It was a symbol of fealty to his father, and of honor in the eyes of the gods. "I swear it on my sacred arm ring, and on my honor before the gods. I will ensure you lot survive this battle," the witch vowed finally, earning a nod from each of the Saxons.

He drew his sword, its familiar weight in his hand a comfort, and his shield. Closing his eyes, he breathed in, letting the sensations of every living creature in the woods wash over him; if he did this, they might be able to determine he had magic, and if he didn't, they would all perish, including Jeremy. With that in mind, he tipped his head back, chanting under his breath, "ᛖᚲ ᛁᛁᛖᛚᚦ ᛗᛁᚾᚾ ᚺᚢᚷᚢᚱ ᛏᛁᛚ ᚾÁᛏᛏÚᚱᚢᚾᚾᛁ. ᚢᛁᛊᛗᛁᚲᚱ ᚺᚢᚨᛏ ᛖᚲ ᛚᛖᛁᛏᚨ."

He couldn't hold back his gasp at the rush, the brief connection with forest itself euphoric. He grinned as he exhaled, inching forward quietly; there was a Dane mere yards from them. The rustling of leaves behind him confirmed the Saxons were in tow. Kol felt the enemy warriors before he spotted them, and he gave his husband a final glance before he let the bloodlust bubble to the surface. He lunged forward, plunging his sword through one of their hearts from behind with a breathy laugh. The two other warriors' eyes were wide in shock, and Kol drank it in as he pulled his blade from the fallen man's chest. His opponents were broad-shouldered, with one taller and one shorter than himself. He smiled.

"Kol í Krókr Refr," the shorter of them muttered, voice thick with disbelief.

The taller swung a two-handed axe at Kol at the words, moved not by confidence or reason, but by fear. Kol dropped to the ground, dodging the blow and sweeping one leg out to topple the giant, and he was pinning the larger man down in seconds. He drew his sword across his neck; two out of three dead.

"Slepptu mér," the final one asked--Let me go.

Kol rose, sword in hand as he moved closer, the other man backing away out of hope for mercy. The witch felt the Saxons staring at him, and he smiled at the other warrior. "Mér líst vel á það þegar karlmenn betla, en þú ert ekki mín týpa," he crooned, running the man through with a sword before his words could register; the whole ordeal lasted only a few minutes, but he was already growing impatient.

"You killed them all," Damon murmured, moving from behind the trees to take in the scene around them. "They're your people, and you killed them."

"They're rogues, likely exiled from my father's kingdom and an embarrassment to the gods," Kol corrected, still elated from the battle, if it could even be called that. "I gave them a chance to die well and go to Valhalla; it was a favor."

"You exchanged words with one of them before he died," Jeremy said. "What did you speak of?"

"The shorter one first said my name, and when he was the only one remaining, he asked me to spare him," the older prince said. "I told him I like it when men beg, but he wasn't my type. Now, what do you say we find the rest?" He tried to change the focus quickly, aware of the Saxon prince's look of disapproval.

"How many more are there?" Tyler asked, eyeing the dead bodies.

"I doubt more than a dozen came altogether; perhaps half that amount remain if they are like other scavengers I've encountered. They fight for no lord, so their numbers are often few; less people with whom to divide their wealth," Kol explained.

Without waiting for an affirmation, he turned, making his way towards the next closest person he felt; his spell had heightened his awareness of the living things of the forest, and he let it guide him. The next two Danes he found were a man and a woman, each with a bow; these were the two who had fired upon them before.

He knew he had been spotted when they turned, each nocking an arrow. Kol barely had time to raise his shield to protect himself, and he saw the Saxons hiding behind trees around him; they truly weren't very helpful, he noted with annoyance.

"Matt, you have a bow, yes?" he asked, calling the blonde man's attention to him.

"I do, but I can't dodge both of their arrows at once; I'll get hit," Matt replied.

Kol smiled as he had another idea. "Switch with me!" he hissed, gesturing to the shield on his arm.

The Saxon looked confused, but he complied without complaint, throwing his bow and quiver to the Dane, who tossed his shield to Matt in turn.

"You're going to throw that between these trees we're hiding behind," he commanded. "Our opponents can't hit us if they can't see us."

"The same goes for you, Kol," Matt countered, flinching as an arrow lodged itself into the tree bark behind him. "For all your confidence, have you ever done this before?"

The witch chuckled softly, "Never! That's why we're trying it now. You'll just have to trust me if you want to live." Matt gave him an incredulous look, as if he thought the Dane were insane. "Ready?" Kol prompted, nocking an arrow and steadying his breathing. He was a good shot, but he had never used magic to determine where his target was; it was rather exciting.

The human nodded, throwing the shield as Kol stepped out from behind the trees. He felt two traces of energy--strong enough to be a person and weak enough not to be a witch like himself--and chose one; the shield cleared his field of vision in a blink; he released the arrow. He knew he hit his mark because one of beings he sensed began to fade; they were dying. Kol rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding being struck as he readied another arrow and loosed it, the projectile landing in the other warrior's neck.

Tyler moved forward, poised to enter the clearing, and Kol rose to his feet to follow before catching himself, feeling for any other energies in the area. They weren’t alone.

“Bíða!” Kol cried, but of course, they didn’t understand him. “Wait!”

Alaric, Matt, and Jeremy halted in their tracks, but it was too late for Tyler, already in the open. The Saxon froze, and a Dane emerged from the cover of the forest, a sword and shield in hand. Fortunately for Tyler, their opponent had no interest in the Saxon; he merely glared at Kol.

“Kol, we meet again,” a far too familiar voice cut across the clearing, and Kol flinched.

“Olaf, it is far too soon for my liking,” he replied, drawing himself up to his full height. “Has my father allowed you to come crawling back to your old position in my absence, or are you here for revenge?” he snapped, addressing his father’s former general.

Olaf pointedly ignored him, eyes settling on Jeremy, who had moved to stand at Kol’s side. “I will not be humiliated by a Saxon boy and his argr völva!”

“What does that mean?” Tyler asked, looking between the two Danes.

Alaric and Damon shared a knowing look, and Kol looked to Jeremy, the Saxon prince’s eyes wide with concern; he likely recalled when Kol had called them völva--witches. If Olaf said anything about witchcraft, Kol was as good as dead.

“If you are so certain I am argr, then I challenge you, Olaf Eriksson,” Kol declared, fully aware he had no real choice in the matter. “We settle this now.”

The other man nodded, and the witch let out a sigh. “All of you, do not interfere, no matter what,” he insisted, addressing the Saxons. “This is a hólmganga, a battle for honor, and it will end when one of us surrenders or dies.”

“What the hell, Kol?” Jeremy snapped. “I’m not letting you die for honor. Whatever he said to you, it isn’t true.”

“It is, which is why I’m fighting him,” the older witch shot back. “I’ve beaten him before, two years ago. I will defeat him again.”

Even as he assured his husband of his victory, Kol didn’t entirely believe it. Perhaps if he hadn’t been using magic for an extended period of time, or if he wasn’t already tired from fighting the other warriors, he would be able to win, but that was not the case. It didn’t matter. If he lost, he would never be king; his people would never respect him.

He retrieved a shield from the ground and drew his sword. There would be no spell casting for this fight; he couldn’t lean on magic. Kol took a deep breath and lunged forward, meeting Olaf in a clash of blades. The older warrior blocked the blow, and the shock of it made Kol stumble back. He ducked under a slash aimed to take out his eye, only for Olaf to slam a shield into his ribs, knocking Kol to the ground. The witch swung his sword instinctually, catching the broader man’s calf as he rolled to avoid another strike.

“You cannot even die like a man,” Olaf snarled, trying to goad him into fighting recklessly. “I suppose I should expect nothing else from an argr wretch who spreads his legs for a Saxon prince.”

Kol brought up his shield to deflect another blow, panting in exertion. Olaf was far stronger than him, and his opponent knew it. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Jeremy blanch at Olaf’s words; he tried to push the thought away. When the older Dane swung his blade at him again, Kol dropped his own sword, catching Olaf’s in his right hand. Olaf stared in surprise, and the witch ignored the blood seeping through his fingers in favor of ramming his shield into his opponent’s sword arm, earning a satisfying crack as Olaf’s elbow was dislocated. The broader man dropped his sword reflexively, and Kol scrambled for it. His opponent did the same, but the witch was faster, slithering across the battlefield like a serpent. He had the blade in moments, and when Olaf reached for it, he twisted to the side then turned, bringing the sword through his enemy’s ribs.

Gasping for breath, he let his body fall limp on the forest floor. That was his worst mistake yet. Olaf, reaching for Kol’s own fallen weapon, which had been abandoned in their fight, closed his fingers around it, and before the witch could react, he’d plunged it into Kol’s stomach.

The larger warrior seemed to have expended the last of his strength, light fading from his eyes as Kol pressed his hands to his abdomen, futilely trying to stop the bleeding. Jeremy was beside him in seconds, pulling Olaf’s body away from him.

“ᚠᚱᛖᛁ--” Kol muttered, only to be cut off as he coughed up a mouthful of blood. “ᚠᚱᛖᛁ, ᛚᛇᚲᚾᚨ ᚺᚢᚨᛏ ᛖᚱ ᛊᚲᛖᛗᛗᛞᛁᚱ--” he trailed off as his vision began to blur. He was losing too much blood.

“Kol, please stay awake,” Jeremy begged, staring down at him.

“Elskan, I can’t heal,” the Dane murmured. “I need you-- I need to-- Fokk.” He took a breath to steady himself, though it was the pain that drew his attention back to the present moment. “I need you to do it.” The Saxon prince nodded fervently, and Kol smiled softly. “Imagine the wound is knitting back together, and say ‘ᚠᚱᛖᛁ, ᛚᛇᚲᚾᚨ ᚺᚢᚨᛏ ᛖᚱ ᛊᚲᛖᛗᛗᛞᛁᚱ, ᛚÉᛏᛏᚨ ᛊᛁᚾᚾ ᛊÁᚱᛊᚨᚢᚲᛁ’ while you concentrate on my energy. It’s just like the tracking spell,” he instructed.

“You said healing was harder than other types of magic,” Jeremy whispered, making Kol laugh despite his injury.

“The worst that can happen is you kill me instead, and I am already dying,” the Dane assured him. “Jeremy, if you do this, there’s no going back. They’ll all know,” he stressed quietly, aware the other Saxon soldiers were watching them.

“You used yours today to keep us all safe. It’s only fair I return the favor,” his husband quipped, placing his hands on the wound. “Frey, læknaðu skemmda, létta sársauka,” he breathed, and Kol moaned softly as he felt the pain start to abate.

“Þakka þér fyrir, darling,” Kol said, eyes flicking up to meet Jeremy’s. “Thank you, elskan.”

“That word, elskan, it means darling?” the younger witch asked, grinning.

“Já,” the Dane replied. “Yes.”

“You’ve been calling me that since the morning after our wedding,” Jeremy muttered, and Kol blushed.

“The first time was an accident,” the older witch protested, to his husband’s amusement. “I was hungover.”

“What about the other word, ástvinur?”

“Beloved,” Kol breathed, and before Jeremy could ask him any more questions, he pulled the Saxon down for a kiss, not caring about their observers. The older witch was certain he tasted of blood, but his husband didn’t seem to mind, eagerly parting Kol’s lips with his tongue when Damon cleared his throat loudly. Jeremy, having seemingly forgotten they had company, flinched away, breaking the kiss and helping the Dane to his feet.

“The two of you are witches, then,” Alaric stated, and the Saxon prince nodded, not that he needed to. It was obvious.

“Jeremy, step away from him,” Damon ordered calmly, glaring at Kol.

“We’re arresting them both!” Tyler insisted, drawing his sword. The Dane stiffened.

Stefan spoke for the first time, “No, we’re not. Jeremy is our prince, as well as Elena’s brother.”

“You’re going to overlook my magic and behead Kol?” Jeremy snapped, taking his husband’s hand. “I won’t let you; he saved all of our lives.”

“He fights like an animal,” Tyler interjected. “Even if he was human, I wouldn’t want him at Bamburgh.”

“Then I’ll leave,” Kol suggested, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve already married Jeremy; the alliance is signed by both of our kings. I’ve played my part.”

“You’re not leaving,” Jeremy protested. “Where would you go?”

The Dane shrugged. “I have brothers to the west. I could make my way there easily,” he replied. “You can tell your king and my father that I’m dead.”

Alaric furrowed his brow, considering the idea. “It’s not a bad plan. It’s certainly better for our peace agreement than having you publicly executed,” he sighed. “I say we do it.”

The other soldiers nodded their assent, and Kol ignored Jeremy’s look of betrayal as he took the protection charm from around his neck and--coating it in his blood--handed it to Alaric. The silver shone in the light, and Kol resisted the urge to take it back. It was the first charm he enchanted, working under the watchful eye of his mother, and although he could easily make a better one, it stung to part with yet another token of his past. Regardless, it was necessary; his father would ask for proof of his death, and when the charm was given to his family, his mother would recognize the necklace. The blood was an extra touch; she’d be able to use magic to verify it was his.

“I’m going too,” Jeremy cut in, drawing looks of shock from everyone, even the Dane. “You can tell my father I’m dead, and no one will question it.”

“Your home is at Bamburgh,” Kol countered. “Why would you want to leave it all behind?”

The Saxon prince fell silent, eyes downcast, and at first, the older witch thought he would say nothing. “I’m not leaving you when there’s so much more you can teach me,” he finally answered.

The Dane flinched at the words. “If all you need is a teacher there are others,” he spat. Of course Jeremy needed him for his knowledge, nothing more.

Jeremy sighed, reading his expression clearly. “Screw this. Screw all of the others. You want to know why I’m going with you? I’m in love with you!” he shouted.

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t,” Kol insisted, the words like a thousand daggers stabbing at his heart. “You can’t leave your entire life behind for me; I won’t allow it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kol,” his husband retorted. “You’re only saying that because you’re in love with me too. I’m not backing down, so save your breath, and stop trying to be a martyr.” Kol opened his mouth to protest but Jeremy wasn’t finished. “You stopped an arrow before it killed me earlier, and you’ve been using magic all day--knowing full well you’d be killed if your witchcraft was exposed--because you didn’t want me to die. I’m not an idiot; everyone else here means nothing to you. You did all of this because you’re in love with me.”

Kol had nothing to say to that; it was true, and that terrified him. They had met mere days before, yet he had been willing to die for this Saxon prince, this untrained witch. His brothers would be indignant when they found out, but there was nowhere else for them to turn.

“In that case, we'll take the horses Olaf and his men left behind,” he instructed, turning to leave and knowing his husband would follow. “My brothers will be at the Mercian border.”

“Farewell, my prince,” Alaric called after them, addressing Jeremy. “It has been an honor.”

“The honor was mine, Ric,” the younger witch replied, voice shaky. Before the Dane could offer him a chance to change his mind, there was a hand in his own. “Lead the way, Kol.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Not too many history notes this time, since Kol will be explaining some things in coming chapters. I've recently been dividing my time between multiple projects, so updates will be slower, but I am still committed to finishing this story, and I'm excited to run with the plot. This chapter was longer than usual; we broke 3000 words this time, and I'm experimenting with longer chapters, so we'll see how long that lasts.
> 
> As always, I love receiving feedback, so please leave comments or kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> Until next time,  
> ~Aylin


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